


Blood of my Blood

by tentsandmirth



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Adoption, Drowning, Fluff, Gen, mostly cute stuff, weird pseudo-lusii relation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentsandmirth/pseuds/tentsandmirth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Grand Highblood discovers his descendant neglected and close to death, and chooses to adopt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> based off my roleplay with tumblr user magpiebridge<3

A low baying filled the air around dusk at the beach of the Alternian sea. One of the beaches, at least. The soft white sand was speckled with metallic scuttlebeasts and long strings of dried-out seaweed, amongst more than a typical helping of plastic garbage. Litter on the planet would often include, but not be limited to shattered glass and plastic, sometimes the leftover containers from the rationed food drones brought to the hiverings for wrigglers and their lusii. Here, however, the garbage remained only as Faygo bottles. They came in every colour, and in the day, the beach would be swarmed with skinny-waisted stingbeasts come to harvest the residual stickiness and sugar clinging to the inside of the plastic. 

Luckily for the wriggler who lived by the beach, he was a nocturnal creature, and was never outside at the same time as the stingbeasts or the sun. His name was Gamzee, at at three sweeps, an adult would assume he was only two, maybe an old one. He was much smaller than a purpleblood his age should have been, body thin and malnourished to the point that his old clothes had started to hang off him. His hair was a wild mess of thick black curls, hiding the bases of horns that with luck, would eventually grow into tall, intimidating spirals. For now, there was nothing fearsome about him. 

The wriggler had been asleep in a pile of filthy blankets, as opposed to his recupercoon. Said sleeping apparatus was turned on its side in the corner, empty and drooling the last remainder of green sopor into a strategically positioned pie pan.   
Gamzee opened his eyes, stomach growling with hunger as he pushed himself to his feet. His instincts were no longer telling him to check the beach for his lusus. He lived far enough away from a regular hivering that it was his lusus that was supposed to provide food, and not the drones, but it had been so long since Goatdad had actually returned to the shores that he no longer bothered to seek food from him first. Instead, he padded on over to pick up the pie plate and angled it up to let the collected slime drip into his mouth. It was a bit of a struggle thanks to congealing over night, but he managed.   
The slime itself tasted like rotten berries and soap, but Gamzee didn’t really taste it any more. It just made his tongue feel a little numb anyways, and had him smiling at least a little. It didn’t taste as good as the food his lusus used to bring of course, but he wasn’t big enough to hunt in the waves like the sea dwellers who occasionally emerged from the tide. Gamzee wasn’t quick enough to catch fish in his claws like they were, and he’d tried eating some of the worms and bugs that wound up in his yard, but it usually just gave him a tummy ache. There’d also been a time when, after managing to gnaw through its hard outer shell, the Capricorn had eaten a scuttlebeast, but it just made him sick.

The waves against the nearby cliffs and rocks were usually loud, but not as loud as they were now. Gamzee got up to his feet, fingers sticky with slime now, long floppy ears rising against either side of his face to listen closer. The baying was getting louder, and it wasn’t the same bleating that his Goatdad made, but it was distinctly a lusus sound. Maybe it was just a sound he hadn’t ever heard before? The Capricorn immediately stumbled to the door and jumped up to the knob, shoving it open and sprinting out onto the sand. Something big and glowing white was resting out near the horizon; an aquatic lusus most certainly, but not Goatdad. Or was it? He couldn’t risk it, he decided right away, and went splashing out into the icy black tide. Once he was in to his waist he dove forward and started to swim, salty water splashing up into his mouth and into his eyes. The water deepened and the lusus seemed to be finished whatever its business was in the water, starting to swim along placidly further away from the beach.

Above, Kurloz Makara, more commonly known as the Grand Highblood, glanced down over the water and at the beach of his grubhood. Alternian law was strict and very specific about adults and visiting the surface. That was to say, they were never allowed to do so unless they had Her Condescension’s direct, explicit, written permission. But, Meenah was in war meetings to determine which sector of the universe the Empire would devour next, and wasn’t picking up her commdevice. Whatever. If he managed to get a hold of her, he knew damn well she’d give him permission regardless. No one was going to question him. He supposed that was a good thing anyways, since he didn’t have a real purpose to return to Alternia other than a bit of nostalgia and a need to get away from the Dark Carnival for a while. His own starship was hovering outside the Alternian atmosphere while he himself was now nearing the surface in one of the personal shuttles, hovering closer to the water until the volatile surf splashed up against the domed windshield and washed away the collected dust from the atmosphere. He squinted out and noticed the lusus diving under the surface, glancing around and taking in the unfamiliar scenery of his homeland when he noticed what seemed to be a piece of flotsam bobbing around on the surface. 

No, not flotsam. A wriggler. He could tell thanks only to the little horns and the four limbs splashing around. He was way too far away from the shore now; there was no way he was going to get back on his own. Stupid little shit probably deserved to drown for swimming out so far without his lusus around.  
Messiahs, is that what he sounded like? The ancient Capricorn gave an irritated huff and twisted the shuttle around to start racing over the water, towards the little shitling before he was dragged under with the current and drowned. He supposed he’d ought to be merciful, considering he’d grown up on these beaches and his own lusus fucked off when he was knee-high. The water spewed up behind the shuttle and he popped the side door open, shifting over and watching the kid sink under the surface. One long arm snatched down and grabbed the brat by the back of his shirt, yanking him out of the water and up into the passenger seat. 

Delirious, Gamzee spewed a mouthful of water or more out with what was probably intended to be a scream. Instead, it was more a hideous, strangled choking noise. The Highblood put the sopping little shit down on the seat and let him cough it out of himself, wheezing and choking for a few hard to watch minutes while he got the water out of his airsacs. While he did, however, Kurloz noticed something a tad disturbing, if not fascinating. His deep amber eyes narrowed a little and he shifted a hand through the wriggler’s hair to show his budding horns a little more, pinching the tip to lift his head up a little more. Gamzee coughed again and looked up at him with a grunt, showing the purple clansign emblazoned on his shirt. 

Well motherfuck. 

“What’s the matter with you huh? You lookin’ to earn yourself a one-way ticket to the Eternal Dark Carnival, grub?” Kurloz rumbled out. His descendent? What an embarrassment. Kurloz had never done anything so stupid once he’d been abandoned, had he? Of course he tried to recall, but that was at least a thousand sweeps ago, and he had no intention to sift through his thinkpan’s many layers just for a reminiscion of his excuse of a wrigglerhood. 

“I dunno,” Gamzee mumbled, and wiped his face with another pathetic little cough. He looked up at him with a frown, trying to dry his face on his soaking T-shirt. Was he pan-dead or something? He didn’t seem too alert or aware of anything, though maybe that was on account of nearly just drowning. Still, Kurloz had encountered very few trolls that didn’t cower in fear of him. A wriggler should have had the instinct to try to get away from an adult troll, especially one as big as the Grand Highblood, but the tiny Capricorn didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

“Foolish little shit,” he grumbled, and shut the shuttle door to keep some of the heat in so the wriggler wouldn’t freeze to death. The shuttle began to drift back towards the shore so he could drop him off at his hive, but the closer he could, the more apparent its state of total shambles became. “Where the hell is your lusus boy?” 

“I dunno,” the wriggler repeated.

“The fuck do you mean you dunno? Where is he? When’s the last time he been here?” The questions, of course, were pointless. Kurloz wasn’t all that sure how long seagoats lived, but if his descendent had been lucky enough to be selected by the same shitpan tasked with raising Kurloz, he definitely wasn’t coming back.

“I said I dunno, he, said he was gonna come back but I dunno,” Gamzee said, looking up at him. He crawled off the seat and into the Grand Highblood’s lap. “Ehehe you, matches to me. You’re purple too motherfucker.” Kurloz winced at the introduction of the cold little mess in his lap but resisted the urge to smack him off, since he figured he’d ought to give at least some respect to his direct descendent. It was still a little alarming to see him; surreal, even, and he wasn’t sure what the fuck he was supposed to do now. Leave him here? He didn’t seem nearly as resilient as Kurloz had been, and judging by how skinny and dirty he was, he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

Abruptly, the shuttle seized up, a flash of red lights flickering inside the cabin. The engine sputtered and vibrated for a moment as its control was seized by the Battleship Condescension, and Kurloz grunted in irritation.  
“Goddammit, Meenah, fuck,” he said, nudging Gamzee out of the way to tear his commdevice from his pocket. The shuttle immediately launched back up into the air, doors locking. It was standard procedure of course; once an unauthorized ship was detected on Alternia it was blasted right back out. 

The screen on the dashboard flickered. “Who the FUCK is---” Meenah appeared then, blinking when she realized it was Kurloz on the other side. The Condesce narrowed her eyes and face-palmed hard enough to make her crown clang against her horns. “Coddammit Kurloz, da fuck did I shell you about goin’ there? You got the WHOLE security division pissin’ ‘emselves over a breach, mothafucka, come on dat ain’t cool!” she spat. 

“Don’t get your panties in a knot Minnow,” he replied. He was probably the only one in the Empire that could get away with talking to her like that, but she happened to be in his quadrants. Two quadrants, precisely. A very weird, unorthodox kismessitude moiraillagience; a black diamond. Even though it was hard for an outsider to tell, there wasn’t actually much hatred, just a lot of pushing each other’s buttons. “Gimme control a’ the shuttle.” 

“You gonna go back down there?” the Empress demanded hotly, fins flared in hostility. Kurloz rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, now you gunna do it? Dark Carnival’s waitin’,” he huffed. The shuttle left the atmosphere, and meanwhile, Gamzee was pressed up against the window in complete and total awe, not making any sounds. Momentarily, the Highblood had forgotten that he was even there. 

“Yeah yeah. Stop goin’ to the planet without askin’, it’s fuckin’ annoyin’,” Meenah said crossly, allowing control of the shuttle back to Kurloz. “You betta learn to open your auditory shells, ‘else you gunna git into trouble someday.” 

He smirked back at her, smoothly steering the shuttle back in the direction of the Dark Carnival starship. “Get off my back, Minnow. I’ll SEA you later, I uh.” He glanced over at Gamzee. Well, so much for dropping him off at his hive. “I’ve got some shit to take care of.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Dark Carnival starship approached in the distance; a behemoth of black and purple metal floating against the luminescent glow of Alternia's atmosphere. It was so large and mountainous that it blocked out the vast expanse of most stars behind it, but Gamzee still had his nose pressed to the window, palms leaving wet little smears on the glass.

When Kurloz spoke, his voice was a deep, rumbling growl, like a mountain with a voice. “You got a name, or did the old goat even bother to give you one?” 

Gamzee didn’t look away from the window. “Yuh huh. My name’s Gamzee Makara, motherfucker. I wrotes it on the inside a’ my hive wall so I wouldn’t be forgettin’ it and such, since there ain’t no one what calls me that but me.” He paused a moment, unprying from the window. “Where’re we goin’ bro?” 

“Gamzee motherfuckin’ Makara, is it? Well I got news for you, shrimp, I ain’t your bro, I’m your motherfucking ancestor. Your blood is mine.”

“Ehehehe no my blood’s mine ‘cause it’s inside me,” he giggled, now totally distracted from staring at the spaceship. He stood up on the Grand Highblood’s lap, though he still only came up to the monstrous sized troll’s chest. “Who’re you? What’s a ancestor?” 

“An ancestor has your same blood, ya runt.” Alright, so Goatdad hadn’t taught him jack shit. Just great. “Ain’t your auditory spongeclots ever heard the name of the Grand Highblood?” 

Gamzee shook his head. 

“Well get your listen on kid, ‘cause you’re mine now. You was hatched to be a subjuggulator and I ain’t lettin’ no shit lusus keep you from growin’ into your righteous clansign. You was hatched to be a SUBJUGGULATOR.” 

The wriggler looked forward again, grinning a little. That sounded really cool and important, whatever it was. The Dark Carnival’s hangar bay hatch opened wide and the shuttle flew inside, met with the gaping, cavernous inside of the Mirthful Church’s mothership. At first, it remained pitch black upon their entrance, then glowing lights and neon strips with patches of phosphorescent paint came to life. A walk way sealed over the open hatch and the little ship steered into the open bay, the humming of the engines dulling to silence as its steel purple body touched the ground. 

“This is your hive now, Gamzee. You stick with me, ‘else you’re gonna get fuckin’ stepped on, understand? I don’t want you runnin’ off nowhere,” he told him. “If you run off and get eaten or some shit I ain’t gonna wanna hear a word about it.” 

“Okay,” Gamzee said, looking around confusedly. “Is someone gonna try to eat me for real, or is you just sayin’ that to make me scared?” 

Well. It honestly did feel like every new sweep of consignment brought dumber and stupider subjugs, but none of them were quite feral enough to resort to cannibalism. It wasn’t as if it never happened on Alternia, but it certainly wasn’t as common as it was before the Great Exile, when all adults were banished from the surface. That, of course, didn’t mean that Kurloz wasn’t assuming he’d have to bash some heads in to make sure Gamzee stayed safe.

“No one is gonna eat you,” he huffed, and unbuckled himself. He scooped Gamzee up, despite how sopping wet and cold he was, carrying him close to his chest as he walked out of the shuttle. Acolytes and subjuggulators made their way about the hangar bay, though none seemed to noticed that the Highblood was carrying a wriggler. “Just keep your skinny little ass where I can see you, understand me?” 

“Yussum,” Gamzee said, now shivering. Kurloz picked up the pace and refused to be stopped by any priests or subjuggulators that seemed intent on stopping him on his way to his hiveblock, each of whom were met with a big hand in the air and a silencing grunt that told them he was in no mood to hear whatever it was that they had to say. They began to travel only faster in the passageway, stretching into darkness with periodic blotches of glowing torches to light the way. “...You’re scary.” 

Well, at least he somewhat had his wits about him. Kurloz huffed and smirked a little, ruffling Gamzee’s hair. 

“And tall.” The little wriggler looked down at the floor from his arms and bit his lip, wondering if he was going to get this big one day. It was clear now that the Grand Highblood would have had to get down on at least all fours to try to get into Gamzee’s hive, especially thanks to his monstrous, spiraling horns. His wrists were as broad around as Gamzee’s waist.

“Well, if we manage to get you caught up on your eating, one day you will be too, little goat,” Kurloz told him, and Gamzee’s face lit up. He had to admit, it was endearing. And, well, he’d be an unrighteous liar if he couldn’t admit that seeing a wriggler hang off his every words wasn’t doing something for his ego.

“Okay. Can I get down now?” Gamzee asked, and looked down at the floor with a wanting pout. He wriggled in the Highblood’s arms, very much wanting to walk around for himself. After all, he wanted to get a better understanding of his surroundings by at least walking around and feeling to the ground to absorb all his surroundings naturally. “I promise I ain’t gonna wander off or nothin’!” 

“Alright. But if you run off and get hur-”

“It’s my own unrighteous fault, I know,” Gamzee said, now bouncing to get out of his arms. Kurloz smirked and rolled his eyes, placing the little thing down on his own two feet. At first, the smaller Capricorn seemed unsteady like he’d forgotten how to walk, but managed one foot in front of the other before he was already striding down the hallway like he’d been there his whole life. He stared up at the massive paintings and statues with awe, pace getting slower as he paused occasionally to take it all in. Kurloz began to walk a little slower to, since his long paces wouldn’t accommodate the shorter legs of the troll beside him without some effort. It was a tad amusing to see him so excited about things so familiar to him that they’d seemed borderline lackluster, before watching Gamzee’s wrigglerish fascination with them.

“What the motherfuck am I gonna do with you, huh?” the Grand Highblood muttered, more to himself than to Gamzee. “Ain’t even half the size of a hopbeast fart.” 

“Ehehehehe, hopbeast fart!” Gamzee laughed, running a few circles before returning to walk alongside his ancestor. His concept of terror remained to be limited apparently. His instincts still weren’t kicking in to be scared of a troll so much larger than himself, and the Highblood hadn’t done anything to prove himself harmful, so he felt no need to be wary. “I guess you could eat me. But then, you’d feel sick to your tummy, because I’m all dirty and stuff,” he said, and held out his muddy arms to prove his point.

“Fuck that, you ain’t even a mouthful, little goat. But you sure as hell need an ablution huh? Stupid old goat couldn’t even manage THAT, apparently.” He paused, noticing Gamzee was tired from trying to keep up. “Gonna let me pick you up again?” 

The little Capricorn contemplated. “I guess so.” 

Kurloz did. He hoisted Gamzee up into his arms, and the wriggler perched his elbows on the Highblood’s shoulders, momentarily distracted by his long, thick cords of hair. The cords were adorned with beads carved from bone and wood, with pretty designs on them of ancient mysteries and runes. But now that he was picking him up a second time, he was starting to wonder about Gamzee. Sure, he noticed he was skinny, but not this skinny. When the Highblood was a wriggler, he’d towered over his hatchmates from an incredibly early age. “...How old are you, Gamzee?”

The wriggler sat back in his arms, as they approached a pair of double doors with the Capricorn clansign emblazoned upon them in purple. “This many,” he replied, and held up three grubby little grey fingers. It took him a moment of thought to figure it out, since he didn't actually have all that much of a concept of time, either. The only reason that he knew was because his husktop reminded him when it was his wriggling day, and a happy little screen with a pixelated gift box appeared. Of course, he had never actually gotten any gifts for his wriggling day, but he liked to pretend he did. He drew present boxes in the sand and then dug holes in them, pretending like he was opening a box. Eventually, if he dug deep enough, he would find a rock or a shell, and that would be his gift to himself that sweep.

Kurloz grunted, dissatisfied. “You look more like two if you’re lucky. We outta get some food into you,” he grumbled, again, more to himself. Once safely inside the respite block, he placed Gamzee down on his own feet. “Try not to drag anythin’ down on your own head,” he told him. Not that that was likely. His block was large and spacious, and there was plenty of dangerous things---solid gold mind puzzles and sharp knick-knacks on shelves, horned skulls and candles as tall as Gamzee---but all those things were far out of his reach. “I’m gonna ‘git you somethin’ to eat and then we’re gonna wash you off.” 

“Okay…” Gamzee didn’t even really hear him, honestly. He looked around the room in total awe for a moment, going totally silent and just staring. Big amber eyes tried to take in everything at once, but there was far too much detail and far too many things and colours and smells for his thinkpan to comprehend all at once. He didn't even notice his ancestor leave his side to go to the nutrition block; he just stood there, staring and making a few giggling noises when he realized just how /soft/ the floor underneath him was. He immediately dropped down onto his knees and then laid down on his stomach with a few giggles, sprawling himself out, then rolling onto his back. The carpet was probably one of the softest things he had ever felt.

The Grand Highblood contemplated, glancing inside the temperature-controlling food hull. What did a wriggler eat, anyways? He had a lot of meat, that was for damn sure. But all that meat came in massive slabs that probably weighed more than Gamzee, seasoned with strong sauces and spices that would probably be overwhelming for a wriggler’s palate. He dipped into a drawer and found a hard-shelled green fruit instead, figuring it would work. He didn’t have much of a taste for fruit himself, but at least this would be easy for Gamzee to eat. He cracked the shell open to reveal the sugary pink innards, carrying the two halves over to the wriggler. “You like this?” he asked, unsure.

“I like everything,” Gamzee said, and sat up when he realized he was getting food. “Except for scuttlebeasts. Scuttlebeasts make me sick. One time I eated one and then I threw up everywhere and it was really really icky and gross. It made my nutrition sac hurt bad.”

“Your lusus should’a told you to fuckin’ leave em be, irresponsible old bastard,” he muttered, tossing his heavy mane over his shoulders and bending down to give Gamzee the first half of the fruit. He took it without even sniffing it first, immediately starting to stuff it into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He probably hadn’t, Kurloz assumed. “You don’t eat no scuttlebeasts unless they’re all blue or all red, hear me kid goat? ‘Cause otherwise, they tellin’ you that they poisonous with their colours.”

Gamzee didn’t answer, just nodded. His cheeks bulged out with how much fruit he’d shove in there and Kurloz winced a little, putting a hand on one of the kid’s wrists to keep him from jamming any more food in there. “Careful little motherfucker, you gonna choke.” He squeezed a little and waited for Gamzee to swallow, and take at least a few good deep breaths before allowing him the other half. “Make sure you chew that shit thoroughly little goat, you don’t wanna get your choke on, ain’t nothin’ jolly about that. Hey hey hey, chew,” he said insistently, and Gamzee did. It seemed like it was a concept he was struggling with, but listened anyways, even though it was hard. 

With the wriggler fed, Kurloz guided him to the ablutions block and set to work on filling up the washing trap. He added a little soap to the warm water as it filled, glancing at Gamzee. “Aight, now let’s get your clothes off little one, fuck knows what kinda rash you’re gonna get if you keep wearin’ that muddy shit…” He helped his descendent get out of his clothes and Gamzee grinned and giggled, since some of the touches made him ticklish, and Kurloz found himself surprisingly, not getting annoyed with it. It was a little cute. But as cute as Gamzee was, it apparently hadn’t kept life without a lusus from taking its toll on him. His thoracic struts were sticking out from how malnourished he was, skin covered in dirt and sand and bruises. Any insect bites he had were scratched totally raw, and Kurloz hoped he hadn’t brought any planetside parasites on board. Truthfully, trolls were not often the most empathetic creatures---especially not the Grand Highblood. But this was his own flesh and blood, his descendent. It made a growl rumble up in his chest while he thought of the weak little troll wandering around the beach for food without even the care of his shitty lusus. It was a disgrace, but at least it was one he could set to fixing. He set Gamzee down in the bathtub and watched the water become soiled with dirt and mud immediately, but at least the small Capricorn was entertained. Right away, he was splashing about and dunking his head in the warm water and bubbles, purring and chirping away in delight.

“Look at you...looks like you been rolling around in the mud,” Kurloz murmured affectionately, running a massive clawed hand through Gamzee’s curls to start scrubbing in the soap. This wriggler’s adorable pathetic antics had somehow earned the Grand Highblood’s gentleness, and that was a mystery of its own.


	3. Chapter 3

Once Gamzee was effectively clean and Kurloz picked him up once again, he swore that the tiny wriggler only felt lighter without the added weight of his sopping weight clothes and the mud that had been caked all over him. If his malnourishment hadn't been a concern before, well, it definitely was then. Of course, these thoughts were buried under a mantra in the Highblood's thinkpan of 'this shitling is not my problem'. It was rare for Kurloz to get attached to anything, really. He could most likely number the things he was attached to on one frond. His black diamond Her Condescension, the Mirthful Church and it's camaraderie, and the Messiahs. That was about it, and now all of the sudden the little wriggler was invading into his thoughts at every turn. Perhaps it was the instinctual desire to protect his own DNA to ensure it's later survival? He wasn't sure, but as he dried off the wriggler, he promised himself not to grow attached. That would be a foolish choice to make.

"Owie!" Gamzee said, and jumped. Kurloz had gotten a little rough towel-drying the wriggler's hair and ended up brushing too hard against one thin little horn, which made the Capricorn pout at him fiercely. "That hurt!” 

"Sorry, sorry," the Highblood grumbled lowly, and made an effort to restrain the hostility that threatened to bubble out. He had no tolerance for bitching or pouting, but...Gamzee was a wriggler, not a moulted troll that new better. He gently rubbed the offended horn with two fingers in a mild apology, but it was apparently enough to soothe him. Most would be amazed to see the Highblood acting gently, though he was surprisingly capable, when he deemed it to be necessary. One couldn’t paint with a clenched fist, after all. 

“I’m hungry again,” came the little voice, muffled under the many folds of the soft towel. He wriggled his head out and let the towel drape down over himself, plopping his bare bottom down on the carpet.

“Ya just ate, ya little...bottomless pit,” he muttered, glancing over again. But he couldn’t say no to a starved wriggler, at least not at a request for something as plentiful on the Dark Carnival as food. “What’ddya want?” 

“Slime pie!” he replied eagerly, throwing his hands up over his horns in excitement.

Oh great. Maybe his lusus really was around to make him some kind of special cuisine? Just motherfucking great. “What the hell’s a slime pie?” 

“It’s liiiike, a pie, with slime in it,” Gamzee replied, crawling up to his feet. He dropped the towel and left it behind, padding across the floor with no regard for his nakedness. “I’ll show you how to make it, it’s yummy, and, it makes me feel better when I’m sad n stuff.”

Kurloz followed, not particularly believing that Gamzee would be able to find what he was looking for. The panshattered little moron wasn’t even going towards the refrigeration hull or the nutrition block. He was going for...the recupercoon? It was massive; massive enough to fit more than two regular sized trolls, with slightly fragrant, warm, bubbling green slime filling it.

“It’s in this thing that I done gots at my hive, so I bet yours is the same!” Gamzee said, pointing up at the brim. “That’s what goes in slime pie!” 

Kurloz blanched slightly, amber eyes widening. “No, you do not eat that,” he scolded, and was unable to keep the hostility out of his voice that time. It jarred the wriggler, who turned and frowned up at him in anxious surprise. “Don’t you ever put that shit in your mouth, you understand me?” 

“Bu-” 

“Gamzee don’t you dare, I mean that, now don’t be fucking stupid, you outta know that that’s, that’s motherfucking poison! It’ll rot your little thinkpan until it melts out from between your fangs,” he snarled. “You want your brains dripping outta your mouth boy?! Is that it? Are you that fuckin panshattered, ain’t you got a single ounce a’ instinct in you?” 

Gamzee’s eyes welled and he squeaked, frozen up in fear at being scolded so fiercely. Pathetic. How the hell was this his descendent? Was this a punishment of some sort? Surely, he had done the Messiahs bidding as They pleased, why would They take something that was supposed to be fearsome and strong and turn it into an excuse of a troll like Gamzee? 

A sob. Oh shit. 

“Gamzee, don’t-” 

Wriggler tears were the worst, he was quickly remembering. Gamzee sniffled and hiccuped and covered his face with grubby little fingers to hide translucent purple tears, whimpering. “I don’t, I d-didn’t know there weren’t nothin’ else to eat, I don’t want my thinkpan to rot out ‘m sorry!” he sobbed. Scrawny shoulders hunched in to hide more from the potential of being yelled at again, and Kurloz took a breath. 

“Hey, hey, alright, fuck, your...fuckin thinkpan isn’t gonna rot out your teeth, calm down,” he muttered, and got down on one knee so he could meet Gamzee at his own height. “Stop crying, lil...kidgoat…” 

Gamzee hiccuped again. “P-promise?”

“If you ain’t gonna eat it anymore then it can’t hurt your pan, alright?” Kurloz said, though wondered if there wasn’t already some pretty irreversible damage. The little fucker was probably eating it because it was the last sustenance he could find, even if it was the least edible thing on Alternia. If his lusus had really been gone that long, maybe the wriggler’s pan really was rotted. He wondered if he ought to be culled for his own good, but again, he felt that guilty pang. His eyes lifted and he put a firm, heavy hand on Gamzee’s little shoulder, as gently as he could manage. “Come on now, stop all’a that. Ain’t right no reason to cry now.” 

“D-don’t yell, it’s scary, I don’t like it,” Gamzee whispered, resisting and fidgeting against the affection, apparently determined to be difficult until he was soothed properly. Kurloz sighed out heavily and papped his cheek, drawing him a little bit closer. 

“I...didn’t mean to yell, just got scared, ‘s all. That stuff is real bad for you aight? Don’t do it again.” He rose to his feet. “Now. Ain’t anyone been around to fit you for clothes yet, but what’chu was wearin’ when I brought ya here ain’t no good. ‘S probably infested with something or other, so here.” He treaded across the room and picked up one of the softer, smaller blankets that he could find, so it wouldn’t be too heavy for Gamzee. Then he wrapped it around him and picked him up, carrying him over to the pile and setting him down.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the long wait everyone, but thank you for being patient!! i've been sick but i'm much better now so hopefully there will be less of a gap between chapter updates this time (o:

Admittedly, feelings of guilt were an unfamiliar subject for the Grand Highblood. Of course, it was in the fine print of the job description. A high subjuggulator couldn’t afford to be burdened with constant moral arguments---they were expected to make choices for the good of the Church, and of the Empire. Not scaring a wriggler wasn’t within the rules of neither the Church or the Empire or his job description, so he wasn’t so sure why he was dwelling on it so much---but he was. Gamzee was small, pathetic, and easily harmed---he figured he oughtn’t have yelled at him like he had, momentarily wondering if he’d permanently damaged any possible trust bond.

At the moment, Gamzee was off at the other end of the hiveblock, still naked but dried off from his bath. He didn’t seem bothered by the nudity, and the Highblood saw no reason to make him feel ashamed about his natural body. No one in the Church was, of course. Nudity was rather common, and he was glad that the little one would apparently fit in so well. But that didn’t mean clothes weren’t necessary. He’d sent for a young brother of the Church to visit the Makara hiveblock, after receiving word that more than a few of the acolytes were talented in making their own clothes. The brother was on the floor in front of Gamzee with a long fabric tape measure, purple in the cheeks with frustration as he resisted the urge to snap at the wriggler for squirming so much. 

“You know, my measurements won’t be accurate if you aren’t still, Brother Gamzee,” he informed him, and Gamzee dropped his arms down. 

“Is hard to be still,” he replied, but complied anyways, planting his grubby little feet on the ground and furling his fronds into anxious little fists. He did his best to stop rocking back and forth while the other purple troll measured around his waist and chest and shoulders, scribbling his measurements down on a pale hovering table that emitted from his watch. 

“Alright. You can move again,” the acolyte informed him, rising off one knee and beginning to roll up the fabric measure. “I should have it down by next evening, Your Holiness. A few simple outfits to start with, then we can discuss his necessary holy vestments.”

“Sure, sure,” Kurloz replied, disinterested. He was lounged in a large chair, not quite as grand as his throne but certainly close. His long dark hair laid down around his shoulders and he leaned his chin into his massive palm, watching the acolyte bow reverently before he left. Gamzee was left on the other side of the room and had found one of the many discarded blankets he had already claimed as his own, pulling it over his head and laying down on the floor with a dramatic huff. 

“What’samatter?” the Highblood muttered over to him, amber-gold eyes glancing up at the display. One thick black eyebrow cocked at him beneath facepaint. 

“‘M bored now,” Gamzee informed him, and poked his pale little eyes up over the edge of the blanket to peer at him. He was asking a silent question, of course. Kurloz had assumed it would come eventually. There were no other little wrigglers aboard the Dark Carnival, but with all the other trolls around, of course Gamzee would want to play eventually. 

The question came. “Play with me?” 

“Play what, hm?” Kurloz asked. Of course, he wasn’t overly opposed to entertaining or playing at all. There was no whimsy in denying the little thing what his lusus had failed to provide, he just wasn’t entirely sure what wriggler games were composed of. The games the subjuggulators played certainly were not suitable for a wriggler his age.

“I dunno. I liked to climb trees and stumps on the beach! And I pretended to be one of em seabirds sometimes and ran around with my arms out like this!” Gamzee said, and stumbled up out of the blanket. He spread his arms out to demonstrate and ran by Kurloz in circles, grinning. 

“Oh yeah? Y’know what hunts them seabirds, kidgoat?” he said amusedly, and Gamzee paused in his running. 

“What?” he asked, interested. 

“Big trolls with bigger MOTHERFUCKIN’ appetites,” he boomed in response, and Gamzee screamed with laughter, immediately running away from him. “C’mere you little seabird shit, I’m gonna eat you when I get you,” he said, closing the distance between them easily. Gamzee’s laughter rose into squealing screams and pitched when the Highblood scooped him up by the waist and tossed him right up into the air, where he really did flap and shriek like a bird. When he came back down, Kurloz caught him. 

“Don’t eat me!” the wriggler giggled, all purple in the face with exertion and laughter and excitement. 

"Seabirds get eaten every day, that's what happens. That's the wicked science of NATURE," he boomed with a grin, and Gamzee squealed. 

"Okay then I wanna be something else!" he cackled, still squirming as the Highblood brought him into his chest. His little legs kicked and his arms flailed in wild amusement. "What don't get eated?"

"Well everything gets eaten by somethin'," Kurloz smirked. "Even trolls."

"Even TROLLS?"

"Even trolls," he repeated knowingly, and put Gamzee on the floor. He looked around and then grabbed a fistful of a fine purple velvet tapestry on the wall, dragging it down with a flourish as he set it between two pieces of furniture. "But only if they can't hide or fight. That's why we got hives---or used to, when we all lived on the planet." 

Gamzee grinned and crawled into the makeshift fort, peeking out with a grin. The Grand Highblood, much too large to fit inside, laid on his great chest and belly on the outside, peeking his head down so that he could still look Gamzee in his sparkly little ganderbulbs .

"Why don't we live on the planet anymore? Why we gotta leave? I like Alternia," Gamzee said, and the Highblood resisted a grimace. 

"Some piece a shit lowblood got this idea he was BETTER than all of us," Kurloz rumbled back to him, contemptuously. "A mutant, no better. Had these big DISGUSTING wings like a goddamn mayfly, n went around the planet gettin' everyone to revolt with false motherfuckin promises and dreadful heresies. The Condesce was smart enough to make sure that that wouldn't happen again."

Of course, he wasn't about to mention to Gamzee that the traitorous shitblood had once been in his quadrants. He and Rufioh had shared some of the pitchest, most satisfying spades that Kurloz had ever experienced---sometimes, they waxed red. Kurloz still wondered if the Summoner had ever been aware of his flushed feelings, and if he returned them. He doubted it. If Rufioh had ever pitied or respected him, he'd never have tried to take down the Empire and run off with his disgusting cerulean spider bitch. 

Gamzee was staring, wide-eyed and concerned. "Oh," he said, little wriggler thinksponge somewhat overwhelmed at all the information coming at him at once. "What's a Con-Desk?"

"Condesce?"

"Con...Desk," he struggled out, and clearly wasn't about to grasp the pronunciation anytime soon. 

"She's the Empress. How the shit ain't you ever heard a your Empress before, boy?"

"Well I dunno," he said with a little shrug. "I seen a Empress on the Thresh Prince on TV once. Is that her?"

"No," he replied, resisting the urge to speak flatly. The Highblood tended to be a little sensitive in regards to how the world perceived his most precious black diamond---and a cerulean blood with prosthetic fins portraying her as a weepy damsel in distress did NOT sit well with him at all. "She's the ruler of the Empire, kid goat. She got us into space, showed us whole other worlds n galaxies. We owe her almost everythin', under the Messiahs."

"Oh." He looked contemplative again, if not a little bit confused. "Why's bein a mutant bad?"

"Because it contaminates the motherfuckin gene pool," he replied gravely. "The Empire ain't gonna let anyone distribute their faulty-ass genes and risk fucking up the species. We cull mutants on the spot." He noticed the terrified, staring look on Gamzee's face, pausing again for questions. 

"W-well how do I know if I'm a mutant or not?" he asked, distressed. 

"Gamzee, hush. Your blood is as pure as the wicked elixir," he soothed, and ruffled the feathery black curls between the wriggler's horns. "They cull the mutants before they leave the brooding caverns, you ain't gotta worry about nothin'." His hand smoothed down and brushed the little one's hair behind his ears, pausing a moment. He watched the way the smooth curve of his fuzzy little ear met his jaw and felt an unusual pang of familiarity, running his claws and fingertips over it gently. He realized then that it was his face structure that he recognized----because it was Rufioh's.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently i was more inspired tonight than i thought i would be?? anyways i punched out a chapter & i'm really excited for you guys to check it out! this one is less about little gamz and explores the early relationship of the grand highblood and the summoner. (o: 
> 
> if you have any questions feel free to ask me on my tumblr:  
> t3nts4ndm1rth.tumblr.com

The Grand Highblood was used to coming to terms with things he did not like. That was just a part of his existence, and it always had been. As a young subjuggulator acolyte, he had had to accept that his superiors could dictate almost every aspect of his life. When he met The Condescension and expressed his black diamonds for her, he had to accept that she had plenty of other highblood suitors pining for her affection in every single quadrant. When Rufioh had betrayed the Empire and become the Summoner...well, he had had to come to terms with that, as well. But that didn’t make it any easier to come to terms with the fact that the numerous pails he’d filled with the shitblood were finally coming back to bite him in the ass.

Gamzee was definitely part of Rufioh, there was no denying it now. Kurloz had spent the rest of the day wondering, hoping, that the little Capricorn in his care wasn’t also of the Summoner’s descent. But all the evidence was there. As he struggled to disprove it, the more of it appeared. The curve of the little one’s jaw, even so soft in his youth; the closely-cropped neck fuzz that was much more characteristic of lowbloods than near-seadwelling highbloods. It was all there.

The Highblood’s gaze dropped from the ceiling, down to the little creature that was nuzzled up in his arms. He wasn’t going to risk tempting the little one to revert to his sopor eating habit, so he’d figured he could survive sleeping a few dry nights with him while the rest of the addiction cleared from his system. The two Capricorns were on the most massive pile in the Makara hiveblock, with a mattress on an incline to slightly mimic the upright sleeping position of a recupercoon. Gamzee was wrapped in blankets and sucking on his little clawed thumb, curly hair all in his face as he snored quietly. He was a twitchy little sleeper, Kurloz was finding out fast. But, every time he let go of him and stopped cuddling him, the wriggler would twitch awake and whine in fear and indignation that he wasn’t being held any longer. Clearly, Kurloz didn’t have much of a choice but to appease him. 

But, sleepless nights weren’t easy for Kurloz, and the lack of sopor. His mind was drifting. His amber ganderbulbs were flickering shut and eventually his thinksponge was riddled with memories older than he would like to remember, memories that made his nutrition sac turn with nausea. 

It had been an Imperial Ball. True, he had already been serving as Meenah’s right hand troll for sweeps, but he had never been able to get used to the damn things. This particularly soiree was to commemorate the Empire’s achievements during the sweep, which included the destruction of an entire solar system after draining it of all feasible resources and conquering two others. All without really leaving the planet---it had just been a few mediocre fleets of threshecutioners, but with the Alternian armies recent growth, it had been easy to systematically sweep through and conquer. Or at least---that was the guise of the ball. The real purpose of the ball was the execution of the Head Cavalreaper, a cocky cerulean motherfucker that had gotten on Meenah’s bad side. 

Meenah sat on her throne, looking as royal and shark-like as she always did. She was clad in her pounds and pounds of shimmering gold and gems, wild hair curled and thick as it draped around her throne and potential suitors hung warily in the wings. She remained disinterested and gave them no attention. Typically, she would have just had Kurloz chase them away, but the two of them...well. Kurloz thought that no one could blame her for snapping at her. She spent so much time with that hideous pissblood ship battery of hers and it was infuriating to the purple blood that a Helmsman could gather so much of her attention. She would go into the Helmsblock for hours, tormenting him or teasing him, or talking---she enjoyed talking to him. Not because she was interested in replies, which was something she rarely got regardless; but because she needed to talk to herself, with someone else in the room. The few things Mituna ever did manage to say usually were snarky or bitter, but Meenah didn’t mind. 

But Kurloz did. He was downright pissed, actually. But he’d made his displeasure clear to the Empress and she’d elected to ignore him, so he was across the ballroom, dressed in his battle armor. Despite his anger and resentment at her, it would reflect badly on the Empress if he showed up in the same bloody rags he’d worn while painting. Still, the night wouldn’t be a total loss, he supposed. He had heard rumours of a young brownblood Cavalreaper with a valuable mutation--wings--blazing his way through the ranks of the military. He was winning battles for the Empire left and right, and even the seasoned veterans of the ‘reapers were beginning to seek him out for advice on their tactics. In fact, he was so respected that Meenah had agreed to meet with the Cavalreaper’s military council to discuss the topic of his promotion. Out with the old and in with the new. 

He felt a blow to his back, then. A significant one. Not significant enough to really hurt, but the Highblood jolted and turned around with narrowed eyes, long, thin ears canted back aggressively at whatever moron hadn’t been smart enough to watch where they were going. The amber and purple embers of his eyes glowed from behind his shadowy facepaint and he paused, met with an embarrassed but smirking bronze face staring up at him.

“Shiiit. Just had a growth spurt, amigo, sorry about that. These is still growing you know,” the little shitblood said, and knocked on the horn he’d struck Kurloz with. Except, he wasn’t little. He was tall for a lowblood---the top of his head still only came up to the bottom of Kurloz’s chest, but that was still pretty decent. And his horns looked like something come directly out of a scornography. They were massive and horizontal, and remarkably thick with smooth upwards pointing inclines at either end. Impressive, even to the Capricorn. In fact, the rack of horns were almost enough to distract from the wings. Almost. But even the wings couldn’t distract from the way that Cavalreaper Nitram was dressed. Torn black pants with a heretical shade of candy red poking from the holes, with equally bright crimson streaks dyed into his hair. Streaked hair was a statement of fashion in aristocratic society, sure, but it was the mark of a hooligan with the lowbloods. A massive black ring hung between his nostrils like that of which were given to herded cattlebeasts. 

“Cavalreaper,” Kurloz replied flatly, and continued to stare him down. This shitblood little shrimp was the one causing such a stir in the military? Sure, he knew the potential would be wasted, since it was all coming from a bronzeblood. But this? He was dressed like a bratty seadweller with slightly more functionality. 

“Aye, that’s me,” Rufioh replied, in an accent Kurloz couldn’t quite place. “You must be His motherfuckin’ Holiness, the Grand Highblood. Looking mirthful as fuck. That’s the word you people like right? Mirthful. Yeah. I really like what you n’ the Empress have done with the place---looks like a slaughterhouse, just great.” He spoke way too fast for Kurloz’s liking, and the purpleblood couldn’t get a word in edgewise. The little bronzeblood was chuckling and he flapped his wings a couple times to hover a few inches off the ground, fractionally shortening their height difference. “These horns man, they get in the way. Pain in my fuckin’ ass but I bet you understand. Nice rack.” He grinned at him and let his boots touch the ground again, wings folding onto his back as his hands dug into his pockets. “Sooo you enjoyin’ the party, or are you just stuck with these chumps ‘cause you have to be?” 

Obviously the little fucker had talked himself out of more than a few situations. He was a smarmy little asshole, that was what he was. He had no right to be so attractive, in the begging-to-be-punched sort of way that made Kurloz’s fists twitch. He was chattering, too. Nervous, maybe? Or maybe not. For once, the Capricorn wasn’t certain. 

Messiahs. He still hadn’t shut the fuck up, even though he hadn’t been given an answer to his last question yet. 

“Aaaaaaanyways,” he drawled, “sorry bout the horns again, amigo. You’ll probably have a bruise. But if you’re a highblood you might as well show it off right? You’ve got a nice colour, it’s not a fuckin’ problem,” he said casually, and his wings gave another lazy, infuriating flutter. His toes lifted off the ground just the slightest before touching down again.

Kurloz barked out a laugh and managed to interrupt him. “You think you could BRUISE me, boy?” he said. “You couldn’t if I LET you.” 

“Is that a challenge?” Rufioh said, and gave that frustrating smirk again. It came out as undeniably flirtatious and Kurloz gave a half glance towards Meenah’s throne, but she wasn’t watching. She would probably have Rufioh executed on the spot if she saw him getting caliginous with Kurloz, and the purple blood elected that he’d actually like to see the bastard leave alive. He wasn’t entirely horrible, in a frustrating kind of way. “Oughta watch youself, Your Holiness, or else I might take you up on that. The last troll that gave me a challenge like that wound up aching for a few days. Undeniably satisfied, but aching.” 

Kurloz wondered if he was cocky or just stupid. Still, he couldn’t help being intrigued. Anyone brave enough to potentially invade on the Empress’s quadrants was at least whimsical enough to deserve the Highblood’s attention, after all. And he certainly wasn’t hard to look at, especially for a dirtblood. 

“Listen here, shitblood. You could try but I’d have to sit my ass down just for you to fuckin’ reach me,” he replied, and Rufioh laughed. 

“Oh yeah? Well I-” 

“You’re forgetting why you’re here, motherfucker,” said Kurloz, interrupting him. Rufioh actually paused for a second. 

“What?” 

“Get your ganderbulbs in that direction, pipsqueak,” he snorted, and jerked a thumb in the direction of the throne. Everyone knew that when a new Head Cavalreaper replaced his predecessor, the last one was terminated...right? Apparently, Rufioh didn’t know that. His bronze eyes flickered curiously as he watched his superior abruptly grabbed by two highblood threshecutioners, who dragged him to the base of Meenah’s throne. He realized then that this wasn’t actually a typical Imperial ball, but he didn’t even have time to beg them to reconsider before the Empress was rising. Everyone else in attendance was aware of the event, apparently, since the Pisces saw no reason to give an introduction. There was a flashing arc of gold and a choked sound of rasping, then the crack of ribs and the squelch of flesh as the tines of the trident tore through the middle of the Head Cavalreaper. His clawed grey hands actually dared to grab at the handle of the royal trident, as if he could remove it from himself, and Meenah snarled, thrusting the trident forward to force him off the end and sprawling across the floor. But, she followed her prey even as she shoved it away from herself, stepping on his chest and forking him through the throat.

Kurloz glanced back at the Taurus in amusement, and noticed Rufioh’s blanching. He had gone pallid, all the bronze drained from his cheeks, ears laid back. 

“Grow up, you seen enough death in your life not to be surprised by this,” the Capricorn said amusedly. 

“Uh...he’s the Head Cavalreaper…why---she do that again?” he stuttered out, somewhat dumbly. 

“Not anymore,” Kurloz rumbled in amusement, bearing his teeth in a deathly grin. Meenah had turned her attention to Rufioh and the crowd had parted to clear a path for him. 

“Cavalreaper Nitram, I’m so fuckin’ pleased yo’ in attendence. Ain’t a party wit’out da guest a’ honour right?” she said with a grin. “Why don’t chu come over here?” 

Something about watching Rufioh remember his place was both hilarious and incredibly pleasing. The ridiculous wings flattened back and he walked towards her slowly, cocky gait replaced with a slow pacing towards the Empress. Once he was close to her, he paused to bow. It was not in good manners to make eye contact with one’s superior, but it went against every screaming instinct to take his eyes off a possible predator---and it showed. He was shaking slightly, the tremor only really visible in his wingstems. 

“Your Condescension,” he said quietly, bowing deeper after a moment of hesitation and clearly wondering if he offended her after not bowing enough. 

“You may rise,” Meenah said, and the formal words sounded strange coming out of her mouth. Rufioh did, and let his shoulders square back a little bit. “Yo’ lookin’ surprised. You surprised?” 

“Y---yeah, Your Condescension. Hell yeah.” 

“Whale yo’ gonna learn quickly we got a reel appreciation of military excellence in the Empire. And no mothafuckin’ tolerance fo’ dead-ass weight. He was the dead weight, yo the military excellence, in case ya thinkpan was strainin’ over it,” she snorted, amused. It certainly wasn’t much of a formal ceremony, especially not compared to the way that their previous Empress had conducted these affairs, but everyone was used to Meenah’s casual approach to these things by then. “So. Congrats. Yo’ now officially the Head Cavalreaper. Yo either gonna bear the weight a yo responsibility or be crushed under it, so choose wisely.” She paused a moment and stared at his quaking. “I recommend that yo first act as Head ain’t to shit yourself in my presence, so you can go now. Party can resume.” She gave a dismissive wave and turned on her heel, and immediately, the terrified orchestra started to play again. Meenah returned to her throne and sat, knees crossed as Rufioh tried to unroot himself from his spot. 

“Fuck,” was the first word out of Rufioh’s mouth, and Kurloz barked a laugh, startling him.

“Don’t sneak up on me Chuckles,” he snapped, the first harsh words out of his mouth. He was visibly shaken up and someone his hair was suddenly full of flyaways, like he’d been running his fingers through it or something.

“What’s the matter, mayfly? Freaked out yet?” he teased with an amused snarl. “Ego get too big for your pants? Pretty sure Her Condescension wouldn’t blame you if you went running off to your motherfuckin’ lusus. Lotta responsibility to put on a wriggler.” 

“Stay in your lane, homie. I’m not a fuckin’ wriggler,” Rufioh said. 

“My LANE?” Kurloz laughed, and slapped a firm palm between Rufioh’s shoulderblades, jolting him forward. The wings fluttered wildly to catch himself. “You got a lot to learn, dipshit. I hope you learn fast.” 

His eyes opened again. Sometimes, his memories were so goddamn vivid he swore that he could feel them. Sometimes it felt like a blessing, but times like this, he wished he could shut up his thinkpan’s film reel for a moment. The Highblood glanced down at little Gamzee curled in his arms again and he chose to ignore the similarities he saw to Rufioh in him, dragging him closer and pulling a blanket over his shoulder when he noticed the skin there was chilled.  
Beside him, the clock read that it was close to dawn. Not that there was a sun to rise in the void of space, but the Dark Carnival followed Alternia’s local time somewhat closely to help keep the inhabitants on a regular schedule. Kurloz’s eyes felt heavier than before and he pressed his face down into the pillow slightly, letting out a great, huffing sigh as he waited to fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

"...Daddyyyyyy..." 

Kurloz stirred, feeling soft, grubby, hot little palms smushing on his face. He grunted, then snorted. One eye cracked open. 

"Daddddddyyyy," Gamzee whined softly, and shook the Highblood's face back and forth. "I gotta pee."

"So go pee," the larger Capricorn rumbled back quietly, still in a sleepy haze. His sleep had been light and fitful----filled with dreams of flags and fire and bronze brown eyes. "You know where the gaper is..."

"I can't!" he pouted, and the Highblood actually looked, then. He realized he had a pretty firm grip of one arm wrapped entirely around the wriggler, holding him like a stuffed toy. He rumbled and released him from his grasp, sitting up slowly to turn on the lamp so that Gamzee could find his way. The light was pale lavender to ensure it wouldn't be too harsh on their nocturnal eyes when they first woke, but was enough to guide the way.

Kurloz watched the small figure climb out of the pile and pad across the floor to the hygiene block, opening and closing the door. The light flicked on. Sometimes he worried the little thing might fall into the load gaper if he wasn't there to watch him, but there was no sense coddling a future subjuggulator to the point of keeping an eye on him even when he had to relieve himself. 

Well, aside from the fact he was apparently now letting Gamzee call him dad, and daddy. Lusus names. But Kurloz was no beast or fauna, no lusus. He was a troll, a fearsome highblood----so why the fuck was he doing this again? He slowly slid himself up to sit propped on his elbows, staring at the light coming out from underneath the hygiene block door. The little creature in there was turning his world upside down. And now, thinking he might be part of Rufioh...he wondered if he was truly following the Messiah's path by caring for him. 

Perhaps it was a test of faith. A wriggler was so fragile, so delicate and loveable, especially when crafted in one's own image like Gamzee was. Did the Messiahs want him to cull the wriggler, now that he knew his genetics were part traitorous shitblood? 

Kurloz heard the load gaper flush, then the tap running. Silence. Then, soft off key humming while Gamzee washed his fronds.   
The wriggler emerged and the lavender light tossed an angelic halo around the edges of his wild, feathery curls. Apparently, infuriatingly, Gamzee had evolved to derail predators with a precious appearance, as many wrigglers often did. It wasn't his fault, but the beast in Kurloz thought of crushing him, just to rid his thinksponge of Rufioh's ever more apparent appearance. 

"Dad I peed. I'm hungry now, is it food time?" 

Kurloz halted his thoughts. "Not quite yet for the rest of the ship...but I can get to whipping something up for you."

"Okay!" Gamzee crossed the floor eagerly and went out into the main area of the block. He paused upon seeing a large box on the floor, with a big smiley face drawn on it in marker with the letters he recognized as the ones that composed his name. He ran over in interest and tugged open the flaps, able to see rather well in the dark. "Dad! I gots clothes now!" he yelled, and the Highblood emerged slowly. He grumbled and rubbed his eyes. 

"Do ya now?" he said, voice husky with sleep. He turned on the nutritions block light and growled at the brightness, squinting as he began rummaging around for something for Gamzee to eat. "Brother musta got it done sooner than he thought."

"He drew me a happy face!" Gamzee said, and picked up the box to show him, which effectively dumped an entire pile of clothing all over the floor. "Oopsie."

"Well then pick somethin' to clothe your hide in," Kurloz said. "Ain't bringin you to mass naked."

"What's mass?" Gamzee said, digging through the clothing to find something he liked. He found some soft underwear first, then a neat pair of even softer black pants covered in whimsical grey spots. Next came a T-shirt with his symbol and he grinned, putting it on with only a little trouble getting it over his horns. 

"It's when the whole of the motherfuckin church comes together to worship our Messiahs," he said, and began to cut up one of the green sweet fruits Gamzee liked so much. "Gonna formally introduce you to your brothers n sisters there, too."

He wondered of course, what the reaction would be. Some might think it to be a conspiracy---an attempt to derail challengers for the Grand Highblood's throne. But he didn't care. He supposed if Gamzee was going to continue on being pathetic and adorable and unkillable, he might as well make sure his fellow purplebloods understood his status. There was no need to mention his heretical shitblood genetics to everyone else. 

"Oh okay! Sounds cool." He left the clothes on the floor and found himself yet another blanket, making Kurloz glance around the hiveblock in utter disdain. His eyes had unfortunately adjusted, and he could see now just how untidy having a wriggler around had made the room. Blankets and clothes everywhere, with little muddy footprints on the carpet. Already, a clumsy claw mark or two marred the painted walls. 

"C'mere now," Kurloz said, even as he was walking towards him. The massive troll knelt down on the carpeted floor to encourage Gamzee to come eat. As he did, he wriggler took a pillow off the couch and plopped it onto the floor to sit on, taking the plate of fruit and started to munch away clumsily and eagerly, licking and sucking on the succulent juices that the fruit had to offer. 

 

It didn't take too long to get Gamzee ready, it turned out. That was a pleasant surprise. The Highblood brought him to the ablutions block and plopped him back in the bathing trap to scrub him down, not surprised to find that there was still all kinds of dirt and grime clinging to him after sweeps upon sweeps of neglect. He had then taken him up onto the counter and unscrewed the tops on his various jars of paint, beginning to create the wriggler's holy mask. He was too young to be initiated into the Riddles any time soon, and so his facepaint was even simpler than that of the acolytes; pallid from his chin to hairline. Next, a purplish-charcoal hue painted around his eyes and around his mouth to create a grinning maw. 

"It's cold! Can I look yet?" Gamzee was white-knuckling the edge of the counter in his attempt to keep still.

"Just a second now," he replied. "And close your eyes." He took a pinch of Special Stardust from the jar and blew it into Gamzee's face, bringing out a wave of giggling. "Look now."

The Capricorn twisted to see his reflection in the mirror and he nearly grinned ear to ear. "I'm! I'm a clown!" Grubby palms smudged against the mirror as he stared at himself, fascinated. 

"Sure are, kid goat," he rumbled back lowly, as he began to paint his own face. He didn't have to compensate for Gamzee's squirming, and he was obviously very practiced doing his own face, so it was easy. The mask formed, completing the look of his striped clothing and terrifying halo of hair. 

The troll was unusually pleased with how well his descendent fit the look of a subjuggulator. He was tiny, and far from fearsome...but the paint suited him. It filled in a gap he hadn't really noticed was there. 

“Look at you. You could scare off the mightiest mother cholerbear, you could,” Kurloz told him, and Gamzee grinned proudly. “Especially with that breath of yours. Brush your fangs.” 

Gamzee snickered and grabbed the tiny toothbrush that sat on the edge of the sink, and the minty dental paste. He started to scrub his teeth and Kurloz did the same, making sure to bare his teeth at him to demonstrate for him every once in a while. 

“Not stinky anymore,” the littler Capricorn finally said. “Food now?” 

“Food now,” Kurloz agreed, and scooped him into one arm. He made his way out to the nutritions block and dug into the refrigeration hull, removing another fruit for Gamzee. “We feast after mass, but you can have a little now, to tide you over.” 

“Mmkay.” The wriggler had no objections, his focus distracted by the food. He started to munch away at the fruit noisily, stripping off the hard shell with his teeth and chewing it up well. While the creature worked away at his breakfast, Kurloz began to carry him down the halls of the Dark Carnival, towards the Center Ring.

Every wing inevitably led to the Center Ring. The ship itself was somewhat arranged like the spokes of a wheel, with the great church in the very center; the center of their lives, their faith. The ceilings arched grand and high, made of cold black metal that glimmered just the slightest in the dark, phosphorescent light. The walls were splattered with every hue of the hemospectrum---barring Minnow and the Sufferer’s colours respectively. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had the personal pleasure of choking the life out of the putrid little shitstain himself. 

As they entered, Kurloz noticed that he couldn’t hear Gamzee eating anymore. His eyes shifted a glance at the wriggler and saw that he was staring up at the ceiling and the walls and everything around him in awe, eyes wide with reverence.   
“You like what you see, huh?” the Grand Highblood said, and the wriggler nodded. “Feel at HIVE here, little one?”  
“Uh huh,” Gamzee said, still staring. “What’s that on the walls? Can I paint too?”   
“It’s the BLOOD of heretics,” he laughed, proudly. Inside, the gathered subjuggulators and priests and priestesses noticed the Highblood entering, but continued their duties. “And of course, you can paint. Once you’re tall enough to reach the wall.”  
“It don’t smell like blood,” Gamzee commented, after a moment. It actually smelled like fresh linens and candles and the slightest aroma of facepaint.  
“It’s dried. N’ we gotta keep it clean in here and shit, make sure nothing’s rotting,” Kurloz said. He walked up the grand dias at the center of the room where a massive throne behind an altar awaited them. He placed Gamzee down on the throne. “Now stay put a moment. Gotta get everything all set up.” 

The elder Capricorn had to admit to himself he was impressed. A proper sense of reverence went a long way, after all. Gamzee might’ve been dimwitted as all hell after so much neglect and barely know a thing about his Messiahs, but his reverence was proper and righteous. Perhaps introducing him to the brothers and sisters of the Church wasn’t a bad idea after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there isn't really any canonical evidence of what the mirthful church and its hierarchy was/is like, so a LOT of this is my personal headcanons. i hope i explained it well and im so happy that you guys are enjoying the story so far!!! if you have any questions feel free to shoot me an ask on t3nts4ndm1rth.tumblr.com <3

It took about half an hour for Kurloz to prepare his sermon for the evening’s mass. As he did, the priests did their work around them; lighting candles that wove an ominous glow into the darkness of the Church and hanging burners of heady incense off the balconies overhead. Gamzee was even surprisingly well-behaved, for a wriggler. It was obviously killing him not to get up and explore, but every time he was ordered to sit back down again, he did, no matter how begrudgingly. It just wasn’t quite safe for a wriggler to be running around underfoot when the brothers and sisters weren’t prepared to avoid stepping on him. 

Soon enough, however, the Center Ring began to fill with the hundreds, thousands, of purpleblooded trolls who inhabited it. Clusters of young acolytes and new conscripts clung together in berobed cliques and the elders of the ship took their seats high upon the balconies, painted with intricate patterns depicting their status among the Mirthful. The Grand Highblood sat upon his throne and watched his flock enter with Gamzee upon his knee, a steady hand remaining on the little wriggler’s shoulder. 

“That’s a lotta trolls…” Gamzee said, crawling up onto Kurloz’s lap and speaking right in his ear so he could be heard over the swelling chatter. 

“Sure is. That’s your motherfuckin’ brethren, right there.” At the ends of the room, the Church doors closed to shut out any outside noise and the orchestra began a haunting beat of drums and didgeridoos that swelled loudly in the vaulted space. A reverent prayer chant began and Kurloz stayed seated while the rest of the Church rose to their feet, and Gamzee listened, still. Perhaps confused, but soon enough, he too would learn the songs and hymns of his people. 

As the prayer dampened to a whisper, the drums and didgeridoos silenced as well, a deathly quiet filling the space. The Mirthful sat in the pews, still, so quiet that even the creak of the Highblood’s throne as he rose to his feet was audible to all ears. He carried Gamzee on his shoulder then, and approached the front of the dias, looking over the gathered mirthful. 

“Yesternight,” he rumbled, breaking the silence with a voice that somehow filled the entire volume of the room, “I turned my gaze to a miracle.” 

Silence still, and the words seemed to be absorbed into the very walls of the Center Ring.

“I turned my motherFUCKIN’ ganderbulbs to the SANDS of my YOUTH,” he said, rumbling and roaring like a beast. “And there...and lo, the Messiahs, They turned my gaze...for WHAT did I motherfuckin’ see?” He raised a hand outwards. 

“A miracle!” came the joyous shout of the gathered.

“That is a most holy truth,” the Grand Highblood agreed, and dropped his hand again. He paced across the stage, steps as silent as shadows despite his massive form. “So I turned my gaze, and so it was----a mere piece a’ flotsam is what caught my most righteous ganderbulbs, being sucked under by the harshness of the waves without a HOPE of succor. This flotsam was earnin’ his admission to the Eternal Carnival, he was, DESCENDING into an embrace COLDER, and DARKER, than a fishbitch’s nook.” 

There was a rumble of amusement, chuckling and hooting from the gathered crowd, and the Highblood waited for the sounds to end naturally. They dampened to silence once more. 

“And,” he continued, “when the Messiahs turned my hand, I plucked this flotsam from the waves, and WHO did I see staring back at me? My own flesh and bone. The BLOOD of my BLOOD.” Kurloz grabbed Gamzee from his shoulder then and hoisted him into the spotlight from the entire Church to gaze upon, which elicited a terrified little squeal from Gamzee. He was obviously confused and had more than a little stage fright, legs curling in the same way a meowbeast’s would when scooped off the ground suddenly. But even in his anxious display, his horns were silhouetted by the glowing lights, the Capricorn symbol upon his clothes for all to see. The assembled crowd of clowns and mimes and subjuggulators went wild then, with shouts of joy as a victorious swell of music rose from the orchestra. 

Gamzee’s little mouth opened and he made a bit of a face, looking around, visibly startled and now squirming to get down. 

“You don’t need to be shy, boy,” Kurloz said to him, drawing him close enough to hear. “Your brethren celebrate your hatching.” 

The wriggler’s face was dark purple with a combination of nervousness, embarrassment, and maybe excitement at being the center of attention for a while. Nonetheless, Kurloz didn’t have to be a world class lusus to figure out when a little wriggler looked overwhelmed, and so he gently allowed Gamzee back into the throne. It would hopefully help him feel a little bit less stared at, even if the entire Church was now getting up from their seats and looking over each other’s horns to get a proper gaze at him. 

The music and hooting slowed once more, as soon as the Grand Highblood returned to his place standing at the edge of the dias. He raised a massive hand upwards, and the crowd silenced entirely. 

“Let it be known, that Gamzee Makara is mine. Gamzee Makara is your brother, and though he comes to us not in the traditional way, he is one with the Messiahs,” he said.

“It is known,” the procession replied in unison. 

“Lo,” Kurloz rumbled again. “If any motherfucker seeks to dispute the veracity of this miracle, such a motherfucker ought to come at me now, or remain silent on the matter permanently.”

There was an uncomfortable shift in the crowd then. Of course there were some who questioned this turn of events, but no one dared to raise the dispute, and so the Center Ring remained silent for ten whole beats. 

"Very well." The Grand Highblood picked up a large, purple leatherbound tome. "With that announcement out of the way, Mass is in session."

Mass, for Gamzee, wasn’t actually all that long. Or at least, it didn’t seem to be so. When the Grand Highblood noticed that the little wriggler was starting to get visibly restless and making perhaps a bit more noise behind the altar than he should have been, he allowed his High Priestess to take over the ceremony. She was more than profficient at conducting the mass and had a soft, velvety voice that filled the Center Ring with nearly the same intensity as Kurloz’s did. While she conducted, Kurloz sat in his throne, guiding Gamzee to sit, kneel and stand when it was necessary. The wriggler couldn’t read, so there was no point in giving him a song book, but he knelt down next to him and sang to him quietly so he might become more familiar with the words of the hymns. 

With ten minutes remaining in Mass, the Grand Highblood took over again, and the High Priestess went to carefully guide Gamzee off the dias so that he could lie down. He was visibly exhausted and doing his best not to fall asleep, but all the talking that he couldn’t understand made that hard. Of course, the tiny Capricorn was hesitant to allow an adult female troll start guiding him about, but after a reassuring nod from his ancestor, he took the High Priestess’s hand and she guided him down to the side walls of the Center Ring. There was a half-empty pew and she sat him down with a pat between his horns.

“What’s your name?” Gamzee whispered to her. 

“Sister Divika,” she murmured back, and sat between him and the interested subjuggulators edging over to get a better glance. She angled her massive, impressive horns at them in a display to back off, and they did.

At the front of the Church, Kurloz finished the final prayer, and an echoing “amen” fell through the Church before the massive stagelights at the center dias went dark, all at once. In their place, blacklights filled their place, showing that many of the trolls in attendance had white ink tattoos that now glowed in the light. The Grand Highblood walked down the steps and passed easily through the condensed crowd of trolls---everyone stepped out of his way immediately for fear of being trampled over, on purpose or not.

“Well Gamzee? You like that?” Kurloz rumbled, and Gamzee gave him a couple of nods, smiling. 

“It was cool! I dunno what happened, and I fells asleep on your big chair sometimes, but it was cool,” the Capricorn replied. “Is it feast time now?” 

“Truly a Makara, aren’t you?” Divika mused, and gave the Grand Highblood a sidelong smirk. She rose to her feet and swept away, purple and black robes sweeping across the floor. As she stepped into the black light, her bare chest and arms and back lit with glowing tattoos.

“She’s spooky,” Gamzee said, as Kurloz picked him up and placed him on what was quickly becoming his designated spot on his shoulder. 

“Sure as shit, she is,” Kurloz agreed. “She’s a MESSENGER of the Lord, that’s why she’s High motherfuckin’ Priestess. And the Lord don’t fuck around, kid. So she don’t neither.” 

“The Lord sounds scary.”

“Your damn right he is. You got a good thinkspone in your nug,” Kurloz said, carrying him from the Church. The lighting changed slightly and the procession made its way to a massive dining hall, where the smell of roasted beasts and pastries filled the air. 

Gamzee rumbled with an eager purr when he smelled the air and sat up a little more. “We can eat now?” he confirmed. “No more waitin’ right?” 

“No more waitin’.” Kurloz reached up a massive finger and rubbed it gently under Gamzee’s chin, carrying him to the room’s head table. Seated there was the High Priestess and High Priest, side by side, with room for the Grand Highblood and now, his protege. 

“Who’s that?” Gamzee said, pointing a finger at the High Priest. He was a skinny, flat-faced looking troll with sharper horns than Gamzee had seen before, and his eyes narrowed in distaste. 

“I am High Priest Trecef,” he said flatly, but didn’t dare slap Gamzee’s hand like he thought he ought to. “Pointing is rude, Brother Gamzee.” 

“Oh.” Gamzee frowned and withdrew his grubby hand. “Sorry.” 

“Where is your mirth?” Divika said, displeased, and the Highblood rumbled his agreement. 

“Can’t stifle the curiosity of a young mind just becoming melded by the Messiahs, Trecef,” Kurloz said, sitting down. He placed Gamzee in the next chair, where the kitchen staff had already stacked quite a few large books so that he’d be able to see over the edge of the table. 

Trecef gave an irritated eye roll and began to eat, while Divika grinned over at Gamzee. Her face was painted in sharp curls and she looked somewhat skeletal and frightening, but seeing her in the brighter lighting of the dining hall made her seem much less intimidating to the wriggler. She plucked a deep red grape off one of the vines overflowing from the fruit bowl and turned.

“Gamzee,” she said, and he looked. “Watch.” She pinched the grape between her claws and it squished, shooting juice at Trecef’s cheek. He grimaced and Gamzee burst into giggling, the Highblood attempting to stifle his laughter.

“Very mature, Sister,” said Trecef. He rose to his feet. “I’ve a new squad of acolytes to attend to. Excuse me.” He smoothed his robe and left the table, abandoning his food. Divika snorted and returned to eating. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Gamzee asked, looking up at Kurloz. 

“Ah, lost his mirth. Empty inside,” Kurloz said scornfully. “Takes himself too damn seriously. Gonna have to cull him soon, get his position refilled.” 

“Thank the Messiahs,” Divika replied, clasping her hands together in thanks. 

“Oh. He has to die?” Gamzee said. 

“Ah, well. Probably for the best,” Divika said. “He has committed great hubris. I’ve heard him saying he has plans to challenge for Grand Highblood, to take over the Church. He would be a most mirthless and foolish leader.”

But Gamzee’s frown only deepened. “What’s that mean?” 

“Means he wants to kill me so he can take the Carnival into his own hands. Become the ring master, n’ such,” Kurloz said, unconcerned and continuing to eat casually. “That twiggy little shit couldn’t lift a finger against me, kid. Got nothin’ to worry about.”


	8. Chapter 8

Kurloz was beginning to realize a minor flaw in his adoption plan. 

It was noon in ship time and he had done nothing productive but given the Mass, having shirked his regular responsibilities in favour of the unruly-haired little tidbit of a troll that was so desperately needy. Gamzee most certainly was far too young to join his acolyte brothers and sisters in regular school feeding, but it wasn't as if Kurloz could bring him everywhere. It was certainly alright, he supposed, for Gamzee to wander around in a contained area of the library or Center Ring, but the Grand Highblood felt he wasn't quite developed enough to witness the complexities of the interrogation and mirthful torment of dissidents and prisoners sent his way. 

Gamzee would need a grubsitter. 

"Dad!"

But who? What troll could he trust to protect his fragile descendent? He would not call Gamzee stupid by any stretch of his mirthful thinksponge, but the wriggler wasn't always the brightest in terms of being aware of potential danger. 

"Dad!" 

The second needy plea caught his attention and he glanced at the wriggler tugging his hair from his shoulder. "Look!"

Gamzee had begged to go to 'the space room' after breakfast, and so he couldn't help not bringing him there. The space room was actually a massive wall of the ship which had been delivered with a miraculously high tech feed of the space around the ship, making the onlooker believe they were looking out a window. "There's! A asteroid!"

"That's what's called a comet there, kid goat. An asteroid is bigger," he replied, wondering just how easy it would actually be to hire a jadeblood. Meenah probably wouldn't like it. 

"Oh."

Kurloz rumbled and started to walk away from the viewing wall, Gamzee's palms skidding and squeaking a little before he finally let go in favour of not falling off the Highblood. 

"Aww...Where are we going now?" Gamzee said, disappointed to leave the space room. 

"I've got a real mirthless heretic to deal with," he said, not paying much attention to what he was saying. He didn't want to leave Gamzee alone, of course; but this particular dissident had gotten far enough on Meenah's bad side to earn a one-way ticket to the clutches of the Grand Highblood, and she would not be impressed if he wasn't dealt with swiftly. 

"What's a heretic?" the wriggler said, as they began approaching Sister Divika's doorway. 

"A bad motherfucker that's gotta be culled. I ain't gonna risk giving you anymore nightmares than wrigglers get anyw-"

There was a smash, then, like ceramic thrown against a wall. It was muffled from behind the heavy door, but two escalating, loud voices rose behind it. Kurloz's ears canted back and he grabbed the door handle, yanking it open. 

The Grand Highblood glanced at the floor, rumbling loudly in irritation when he laid eyes on the scene. Trecef's knife was on Divika's throat and the High Priestess had a grip on his horn, looking ready to snap it right off his head. 

"This better not be some kind of sacrilegious motherfuckin kismesistude I'm layin' my wicked ganderbulbs on," he growled out.

"No," Trecef said, face flushed dark purple. He begrudgingly removed the knife from near Divika's neck and rose to his feet, pausing a moment as if to be diplomatic--he offered a hand to help her up, and she slapped it hard. She rose on her own. 

"I can't have my goddamn High Priest and Priestess fighting like a couple of grubs still wet behind the ears, so knock that shit off before I shove my walk frond up each your waste chutes. I don't wanna see that shit."

"Yes, your Holiness," came the chastised reply after a moment, like scolded wrigglers. 

"Now Trecef get the fuck out." He jerked a thumb at the door and the High Priest narrowed his eyes but left without a word. 

Kurloz breathed a sigh. Trolls were not a race known for their diplomacy or empathy or patience, and purple bloods were the epitome of capricious, unpredictably violent creatures. Fights were common on the Dark Carnival, in short terms. But it was always with fists and claws---because fists and claws intended to hurt, not kill. Knives intended to kill. 

Once the door closed and he figured Trecef was out of ear shot, the Highblood turned his attention on the priestess. 

"Care to elaborate on what happened?" he said, trusting her story would be much more truthful than Trecef's.

Divika drew herself up slightly. "It is an...adult conversation," she said, after a moment. "As in not for tiny ears still wet with his egg's glaire."

Kurloz hesitated and looked around the room. The High Priestess kept a number of decorative clubs and heavy juggling pins on her walls, with big book shelves covered in all kinds of potentially dangerous items for a wriggler to get into.   
"Gamzee," he said, and picked the smaller Capricorn off his shoulder. He held him up under his little armpits up at eye level. "Don't touch anything. I'll be right back but I don't wanna see even one frondprint on shit, you get it?” 

“Aw, okay,” Gamzee said, sort of pouting. The Grand Highblood walked over to place the boy down on a pile where he would hopefully be able to entertain himself for a moment, then led Sister Divika out into the hallway.

“What the motherfuck was that?” he said, the moment the door closed. 

“Trecef wants to have Gamzee culled,” Divika replied simply. “He said it is against Church tradition for the Grand Highblood to care for a descendent. I said that if he laid a hand upon him I would cut it off, and then we fought, and you walked in,” she finished, miffed that he’d been so rough on her. 

Kurloz growled and his ears canted back aggressively. “That motherfucker better watch his shit, then,” he muttered. “I’ll be having a real nice TALK with him about the way we treat our brothers and sisters.” 

“Just have him culled,” Divika growled back. “He’s a mirthless burden and it would be easy to replace him.” 

“Ain’t that motherfuckin’ simple,” he muttered back. “You know that. Now. I gotta deal with a heretic that the B.C. sent to us, n’ then handle Trecef’s stupid fuckin’ ass. I need you to watch Gamzee.” 

The priestess paused, blinked. She stared at him, then opened her mouth, and closed it again.

“Sister, you are the only o-” 

“I am a High Priestess of the Lord of Harshwhimsy, the Angel of Double Death--” 

“Sister-”

“And you want me to grubsit.” 

“Yes.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You are lucky I’ve nothing better to do.” 

“And you’re lucky I ain’t makin’ you give him a bath, ‘cause that’s a mirthful terror,” he replied pointedly, and opened the door back up. Gamzee, of course, was not in the pile. He was across the room standing at the base of a bookshelf, running his fingertips across a fuzzy succulent plant. 

“Gamzee motherfuckin’ Makara, what’d I tell you about not touchin’ shit?” Kurloz said, and Gamzee jumped. 

“Not to do it. But it’s not gonna hurt me,” he said. 

“Kidgoat you’re gonna get on my last motherfuckin’ nerve, now c’mon over here.” Kurloz huffed and Gamzee came over, looking a little chastised. “Now, Sister Divika is gonna watch you. You listen to what she says, got it?” 

“Okay,” he replied, looking at her.

“You’ll behave nice for her, won’t you?” Kurloz said. “She’s the Lord’s favourite priestess, if you motherfuckin’ misbehave He’s gonna suck you down the drain next time you’re in the ablution trap.” 

Gamzee’s eyes widened in absolute horror and he nodded quickly. “I’ll be good!”

“Good, now Sister. He likes them motherfuckin seastar fruits n’ cereal. Read him a story or some shit if he gets bored. You can call me if you need me,” Kurloz said. 

“You’re leaving?” Gamzee said, pausing a moment. He stared up at him, and Kurloz knelt on both knees so that he could get down to Gamzee’s height.

“I’m just goin’ to get some work done, kidgoat. Just relax and play with Sister Div, n’ I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, papping the wriggler between his shoulder blades and panicking slightly when he saw a well of bubbly purple tears. 

“But! Goatdad said he’d be back b-before I knew it, and, and he wasn’t, it was a long time and I knew it!” Gamzee said, panicking. He hiccuped out a little sob. “Is it cause I touched the plant? I just wanted to see ‘c-cause it was fuzzy, I didn’t mean to be bad!” 

Kurloz and Divika, neither of whom were accustomed to handling sobbing wrigglers, panicked just about as much as Gamzee was. The Priestess looked around her block for something to distract him and Kurloz bent down, scooping him up. 

“Hey, hey, no no no no, I’m not leavin’ you, I ain’t mad, c’mon kid, calm down...stop...cryin’, c’mon,” he soothed gently. Gamzee grabbed onto him tightly with both arms and squeezed hard, shaking with hiccupy, squeaky little sobs. “Gamzee, hey hey hey it’s...it’s okay…” 

“Y-you’re not, all motherfuckin’ mad at me are you?” he mumbled, whimpering.

“Messiahs, no, Gamzee, no no. It’s alright, I ain’t mad. C’mon, stop cryin’, you’re messin’ up your paint,” Kurloz said, almost pleading and definitely still unsure of how to deal with a crying wriggler. It twisted him up awful inside to see Gamzee this way, which was even more disturbing. Sympathy was a trait he rarely displayed. “Hey. Look. I’m going right to the Center Ring, aight? You remember where that is?” Gamzee nodded a little, still pressing hard against him. “That’s where I’m going. Sister Div can take you there if you’re gettin’ worried I ain’t gonna come back aight?”

“...Okay. Y-you have to PROMISE,” Gamzee said softly. 

“I motherfuckin promise. Just sit tight alright?” he replied. The wriggler breathed out and hugged him around the neck, just as Divika was returning, having found some somewhat old honey candies in her pantry. 

“Here, little one,” she said, and gave Kurloz a look. Hyping Gamzee up on sugar and then passing him back off to the Grand Highblood would apparently be his punishment for dumping him on her in the first place. 

 

It was hard to leave Gamzee alone. Hell, he realized, he hadn’t been away from the little Capricorn since he’d scooped him off the godforsaken planet in the first place. It was almost disturbing not to have weight on his right shoulder or little grubby fingers tugging his hair, and his instincts kept flaring, saying he ought to go find him.

Slaughtering the snivelling blueblood was a nice change of pace, of course. It reminded him of whom exactly he was. He was the Grand motherfucking Highblood, for the Messiah’s sakes! He was no lusus. Even if Gamzee was exceptionally adorable and carried his DNA, he wasn’t the pivotal focus of his life. 

But that was easy to think when he wasn’t looking at him. 

Once the walls of the Center Ring were efficiently given a lovely new coat of blue, Kurloz went to find the traitorous motherfucker that dared to speak of harming his descendent. Of course, it wouldn’t be the easiest conversation. He was aware of that. It was Divika’s word over Trecef’s and it was certain to raise even more hell if the High Priest had solid proof that the Grand Highblood was favouring the Priestess.

Kurloz found Trecef in the Chamber of Reflection, of course. It was a massive corridor of the Dark Carnival with arched up ceilings and long walls. However, the Reflection wasn’t necessarily the kind of voluntary reflection that the holy often devoted themselves to. Rather, it was for the “reflection” of the Empire’s criminals, where they would be subjected to the various gruesome devices held inside until they made their proper confessions.

Not many would peg Trecef for the sadistic kind, but his fascination with another troll’s pain ventured far beyond merely the destructive nature of an acolyte inspired by the Lord. He claimed it was the Muse that inspired him to create pain, but Kurloz knew better than to trust him on those claims. However, it was easy to find him, and that was what mattered. He was wiping olive blood off a club, taking the time to wipe away the smears from each individual spike with the cloth. 

“Brother Trecef,” Kurloz said, and shut the door behind himself. “A word.” 

Trecef turned and raised a brow. “Of course, your Holiness,” he said, though there wasn’t much enthusiasm in his voice. He placed down the club and the cloth, approaching him with too much confidence for Kurloz’s liking. 

“I recall this mornin’ my comment on, if motherfuckers got a PROBLEM with my descendent, they oughta bring it to ME. You gott’a problem you wanna converse about, motherfucker?” Kurloz growled.

The High Priest didn’t seem to react at first, choosing his words. “No,” he said simply. 

“No?” Kurloz repeated. “Well then what the motherfuck was that little grub spat you had with Sister Divika?” 

“It is not your descendant I have a problem with,” Trecef said mildly. “It is you.”

The Grand Highblood narrowed his eyes, immensely displeased. “You better start fuckin’ talkin’ before I lay you down in one a’ them machines over there for some REFLECTION of your own, Trecef.” 

“I am entitled to my opinion. And there are others who share it.” 

“What opinion?” the Capricorn spat back.

“Your corruption, your pacts with the Empress, and now your nepotism. You have brought in your descendent to deter anyone from challenging you for your position, to try to make them believe it is he who will inherit it,” Trecef snarled. “But before you act, answer me this, Grand Highblood. How would it reflect upon you if the first troll to express distaste in you was slaughtered, hm? You’ll lose followers faster than the captured Signless.” 

Kurloz grabbed Trecef by the front of his robes, snarling lowly. “You ain’t blackmailin’ ME motherfucker. Keep your goddamn trap shut, ‘else I’ll fucking shut it for you.” He shoved the High Priest back and then stormed from the room, his bloodpusher pounding. 

Trecef was a goddamn liar, and a manipulator. He was aware of that. But surely his faithful followers weren’t actually believing he’d brought Gamzee in to secure his position? The mere idea was a deep, searing insult. And an incredible concern.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my last final exam is tomorrow, then i'm free for the summer! :oD hopefully that means much more productiveness in terms of my writing. this chapter features plenty of ghb/condesce, including a flashback! i hope you enjoy! if you have any questions feel free to ask me on t3nts4ndm1rth.tumblr.com/ask <3

Sister Divika sighed, glancing down in minor disturbance when Gamzee's sharp little horn jabbed her belly. The wriggler had fallen asleep shortly after a few candies, some warmed cattlebeast milk and a wriggler's story she had been able to easily download and read to him from her tablet. It wasn't exactly pleasant to have his teary facepaint smudged all over the black fabric of her dress, but she supposed it wasn't horrible. He was a pathetic little creature. She had forgotten how vulnerable trolls were in their youngest stages, and thought amusedly that at one point, the Grand Highblood that so many feared had once looked very much like this. 

A heavy handed knock abruptly rattled the door, and before she could say anything, Kurloz stormed inside. His mask of paint was twisted with a grimace and his eyes glowed bitter amber.

"That motherFUCKER-"

"SHHH!" Divika hissed, startled by the shout. "I just got him to sleep! What are you? Panshattered?"

"I'll tell you whose motherfuckin panshattered," Kurloz hissed back quietly. "You for talkin to me like that and motherfucking TRECEF."

"Oh please, we all know Trecef is a motherfucking fool," Divika replied, and placed a smooth grey hand on the mess of Gamzee’s hair. "...But you're practically breathing steam out your sniffnub so I assume he did something especially foolish during your last."

"He---" Kurloz breathed out, wondering abruptly if Trecef could’ve possibly gotten to her. But no, they hated each other in the most platonic way possible, and Divika was his most trusted confidant aside from Meenah. She surely could be trusted, right? After all, she had fought Trecef for wanting to harm Gamzee...but that didn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t believe the Highblood to be guilty of nepotism. "Forget it...I need to think. Got shit rattling in my pan, now give the squeaker back," he ordered, possessively. 

Sister Divika looked confused, but rose to her feet and obliged him. "What the hell happened? You’re not making any sense.” 

"I don't gotta motherfuckin make sense, I’m the Grand motherfuckin Highblood!” he roared back at her. The hulking troll stormed from the room with the tiny wriggler held possessively in his arms, stomping through the hallways loudly enough to wake up half the ship. 

Gamzee stirred, pale yellow eyes opening up wide. "Where're we going...?" he mumbled, as he woke. Kurloz didn't answer. He took the elevator back up to his quarters, ascending fast. They arrived then at the Makara quarters and he found the nearest pile, placing the wriggler down in the blankets.

"Back to sleep now, Gamzee," he said, and pulled up a few blankets and a couple of the plush grub toys he had had made for the little troll. "I got shit to deal with. Back to sleep. Nap time," he insisted.

“What…? Isn’t it play time after nap time?” 

“Nap time isn’t over yet. You know you get grouchy if you don’t get enough a’ your mirthful daydreams, now back to sleep,” Kurloz said, tucking the blankets around Gamzee. The smaller Capricorn relented somewhat, even if he was confused. He was too sleepy from being jerked out of his nap to care much anyways. He was asleep again quickly.

Kurloz paused a little bit as he watched the tiny troll’s eyelids slip shut, and stared while he drifted into soft snores again. At least his progeny was safe. Trecef didn’t seem interested in harming him, even if he did want to destroy everything Kurloz had worked for. But that didn’t mean he was willing to leave the helpless, pathetic little creature out of his sight for even a moment. He crossed the floor over to his desk and dropped down into his massive chair, grabbing his holotablet and dialing Meenah’s number. It rang a few times, and the screen flashed that horrible, blasphemous candy red that she used behind her white fork logo.

Two rings later, the Empress picked up the call, and her face appeared on the other side of the screen. She wore a fluffy, ridiculous pink robe and her face was covered in some kind of green gunk, the mane of hair on her head all tied up in a knot between her horns.

“Da fuck do you want?” she said sweetly, biting the head off a fish in her hand. 

“Da fuck is on your face, bitch?” Kurloz replied immediately, and Meenah snickered. She swallowed the rest of the fish whole. 

“It’s a face mask, ya fuckin’ scurvy clod. Keeps my skin all soft and pretty and shit. Now what’da you want?” 

Kurloz took another gruff breath. “I think there’s gonna be an uprising on my ship. The High Priest is-” 

Meenah raised a well-groomed eyebrow, unamused. “An uprising?” 

“This motherfucker is all talkin’ against my ass, sayin’ he ain’t impressed with little Gamz bein’ around, said it’s damn nepotism and sh-” 

“Did he say he was gonna start an uprising?” Meenah interrupted again, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. “‘Cause you know how I don’t like dat word just bein’ tossed around mothafucka.” 

“Well no but-”

“Then don’t bug me wit it, ya paranoid clown,” the Empress said. She made a bit of a face and then leaned forward again upon seeing the look of frustration on the Highblood’s face. “Okay, okay, just, relax.” She reached a long-clawed hand out to pat the screen, mimicking the motion of papping.“Look, we had problems with Trecef before aight? But he ain’t ever actually started nofin. Yo losin yo’ shit for nothin’.” 

Kurloz groaned, displeased. “It ain’t the same this time, Minnow. I can just tell, he’s got some kind a motherfuckin’ blasphemous plan.” 

The Condesce sighed softly and tented her fingers in thought. “Mmh...yeah, whale, I ain’t one to tell ya not to trust yo gut...Guess you gotta cull ‘im.” 

“Can’t,” Kurloz muttered back. “The fuckin heretic’s got my ass backed to the wall. Got his implication on that he’s got other people willin’ to follow him, and if I murder the first motherfucker to talk against me it’s gonna start talk about me bein’ some kinda bad leader.”

“Mm...whale, I don’t reely believe the majority a’ the Church would turn on you. Nobody likes Trecef on yo ship, right? Who da fuck would follow him?” Meenah said with a disgusted snort. “He’s a coddamn fool.”

The Capricorn gave a heavy exhale and nodded. “I suppose.” 

“Shell, I’m sorry, but fo’ the love a’ fuck, you been the leader a the Carnival n’ the Church for sweeps now. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll swing the BC over to your sector n’ we can have a little visit,” the Pisces relented, after a moment. “I’ll do my own personal investigation, ‘n if I think Trecef is causin’ shit there ain’t nobody in the universe that’s gonna try to raise shell wit me.” 

The Grand Highblood nodded his head. “Alright, Minnow. Lookin’ forward to seein’ you in person.” 

“I’m looking forward to seein’ you too, Kurlyfries,” she purred softly, and grinned. “Now, I gotta get dis shit off’a my face ‘cause I got a war meetin’ in a half hour. Sea ya soon.” She blew him a fishy pouty-lipped kiss and flicked her screen off, and Kurloz rolled his eyes, pushing himself away from his desk. 

“...Who was that?” 

Kurloz jumped and turned around, noticing that Gamzee was sitting up and holding his fluffy little goat plush to his chest. 

“Ain’t you supposed to be havin’ a nap little one?” Kurloz grumbled out after a moment, and got down from his seat. He sat down on the floor, towering over the tiny troll. 

“Yeah, but you was yellin’, and it done woke me up, mothafucker,” Gamzee yawned back. “And then I heard somebody else talkin’ even though there ain’t no one else in the room, and I done thought, what a motherfuckin’ miracle! And now I wanna know who it was.” 

“Oh, well. That was Minnow,” Kurloz said, and picked up the little troll. “She’s the Empress. N’ my moirail and my kismesis. My precious black diamond.” 

“Black diamond! That’s really special. I bet she’s the coolest,” Gamzee said, grinning widely. 

“Hell yeah she’s the coolest, she owns the universe, little one,” he said, and pulled his progeny into his arms. 

“How can someone even own the universe?” Gamzee said, slouching in his arms and looking up at him. 

“Well she’s the Empress, kidgoat,” he replied. “Means she can pretty much do whatever she want.” 

“Oh yeah! ‘Cause the hemospectrum right?”

“That’s right. Smart kid. She’s on the very top, she is,” he said, rather proudly. “The only tyrian in all’a the galaxies, motherfucker.” 

“How’d she get to be tyrian?” he asks. “Was she lucky?” 

“The Messiahs chose her, Gamzee. They got their righteous fingers tuggin’ the strings a’ life all the time ‘cause they’re the ultimate puppetmasters, n’ nothin’ don’t happen for no reason, ever.” He petted the little one’s hair back, rather pleased to have someone to teach. 

“Wow. So. She’s super duper miraculously special?” 

“Sure is. She can be a bitch sometimes, but she knows that,” Kurloz smirked back. “She’s proud of it, too. ‘N she’s gonna come visit you and me in a little bit.” 

“Really?” Gamzee grinned and hugged his plush closer. “Do I gotta call her, the Condensation? ‘Cause, that’s really hard to say, but I don’t wanna make her mad.” 

“You can call her Minnow,” he smirked, and ran his hand between Gamzee’s horns. “If she throws a tantrum I’ll set her right, don’t you worry.”

“Yeah! Okay!” Gamzee got up, apparently disenchanted now that he had had his questions answered. He climbed out of the Highbloods arms and grabbed a handful of the plush lusii that had been made for him and ran to the pile that he had designated to be their home, tossing himself down onto it and starting to play. Nap time was quite obviously over.

At least, for Gamzee, anyways. Kurloz flopped back against the pile and breathed out a heavy sigh, staring up at the ceiling and becoming aware for a moment of the weight of his horns. It would be nice to see Meenah again. He often worried about her, and the longer that they went without seeing each other, the more prominent his fears felt. It was hard to have a quadrant partner who was simultaneously the most beloved and most hated figure in the universe. 

He thought back to what he was fairly certain was at least seventy sweeps ago. It was long before Gamzee was even an egg, but still long after the Summoner’s filthy revolution had been put to rest. Kurloz remembered exactly where he’d been when he’d been informed that an attempt had been made on the Empress’s life. 

Kurloz had been standing in the Center Ring, with a much younger Divika by his side, arranging the candles on the altar for the mirthful holidays. His commdevice lit up with a glaring red screen and it made a terrible sound, and he fumbled to pick it up before the alarm could disturb anybody’s praying. 

“What the fuck?” he growled into the microphone, and saw a familiar face on the other side of the screen. One of Meenah’s prissy violet blood advisors was on the other end of the screen, pale and panting like he’d been running.

“An attempt has been made on Her Condescension’s life. The Empress has ordered your presence at her side immediately,” the other troll said. Kurloz dropped his commdevice on the ground and immediately sprinted from the room, shoving aside any unfortunate soul in his way to get to the Dark Carnival’s control room. The captains abandoned their previous course immediately upon being given the word and used the gravity of a nearby supergiant to bend the trajectory of the behemoth starship without losing momentum, rocketing into the avoid and hot on the tail of the BC. 

Despite the massive advancements in space travel, it took most of a week for the Dark Carnival and Battleship Condescension to meet, despite both rocketing towards each others coordinates at light speed. Both nearly burned out their helmsmen, nearly resulting in fatal malfunction that had both ships’ engines stuttering by the time they reached each other. Maneuvering the two behemoth ships to sit belly to belly was a job that took hours of cooperation and careful teamwork to avoid tearing either open, and so Kurloz ran to take his personal shuttle. Purple fire blasted out the ends and he was soon being welcomed into the Battleships’ monstrous hangar bay, but barely managed to turn off the shuttle before he was jumping out of it. 

“WHERE IS SHE?” the Grand Highblood roared, storming past the nearby threshecutioners and practically daring them not to follow. The three of them stumbled haphazardly to keep up with him, quite aware the consequences would be dire if the Capricorn’s patience was run any thinner than it already had been. 

Kurloz’s bloodpusher was pounding hard in his chest as the threshecutioners led him to the Empress’s private hospital wing. Security was visibly tripled around all of the premises, with massive metal doors barring anyone without clearance getting anywhere near the tyrian. Each one opened for Kurloz, however, and it wasn’t long before he was shoving aside Meenah’s personal medicullers to get to her bedside.

The Empress looked better than she had for the past few days, though it was far from what her condition normally was. All of her jewellery, even the royal crown, was removed from her, grey skin pale and the thousands of freckles scattered over her body dull. A strange, thick plastic mask was strapped over her face, with tubes in her sniffnub and the gills that lined her throat. Massively thick bandages covered her naked torso, wrapped from her waist up. She was awake, and mostly conscious, bruised eyes lidded and swollen. Despite her semi-conscious state, she remained looking infuriated. 

The Highblood hissed through his teeth when he saw her, nearly trampling a guard as he ran at her. The last mediculler scrambled out of the way in a desperate attempt not to be perceived as a threat to the Empress, and Kurloz was quickly on all fours on top of her--supporting himself so no weight was on her, but getting the closest to embracing her that he could without crushing her completely. 

“Kurloz, holy shit-” 

“MotherFUCK, look at you, look at you, motherfuck I’m gonna tear a motherfucker apart,” he rambled, and bent his head down to nuzzle their noses together in just the slightest way, so as not to dislodge her mask. 

“You’re here,” she breathed, like a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “Thank fuck, I been so coddamn bored, Kurlyfries…” 

“Quit talkin’, Minnow, you’re so fucked up, just, shh,” he muttered softly, and carefully crawled off of her. He sat up in the chair beside her, looming over her and making a shadow big enough to swallow her. In his eyes, the Empress looked small for the first time since he’d met her---exhausted, injured, with the strange plastic things all hooked up to her as if she was some kind of Messiahs-forsaken Helmsman. 

The Pisces laughed helplessly, but the sound wasn’t her typical derisive, bubbly cackling that Kurloz had grown so fond of. She sounded hoarse, and he could tell something had hurt her airsacs. 

“I’m gonna find the motherfucker what did this to you Minnow, you just wait,” Kurloz snarled pointedly, and would’ve gotten up to pace if he wasn’t so intent not to leave her side. “Gonna drink his motherfuckin’ thinkpan outta his bowl like SOUP and then use it for a goddamn INCENSE HOLDER, mothafucker.” He quieted himself to lean down and nuzzle her ear fins. “Seriously---seariously, what the fuck happened to you, Minnow?”

“It’s okay baby, don’t ‘chu worry, ‘m alright,” Meenah breathed, not especially keen on detailing what had happened. 

“What happened?” he repeated, intensely. His massive hands came up to cup her jaws and she was too exhausted to swat him away. 

“One a’ the servants put some knock-out drugs in my fuckin’ fish,” she muttered, face pinching in anger. “My ass got all woozy n’ shit, n’ then some mothaFUCKA jumped outta nowhere with my own fork n’ stabbed me. Stabbed ME. With my OWN FORK.” 

“I know, fishstick, I know,” Kurloz muttered back, and papped her cheek. 

“I feel like a fuckin’ shatterpanned idiot,” the Empress muttered, her fins flared dangerously in both fury and embarrassment. “Gonna find that mothafucka what did dis to me and rip his ganderbulbs out, n’ then shove em in his wastechute so he can watch me kick his ass.”

“Not before I motherfuckin’ do,” Kurloz replied with a growl, and Meenah just nodded, clenching the blankets up in her fists. Her gold-tipped claws ripped them and pierced through the fabric effortlessly. 

“...Feel stupid,” Meenah muttered, after a moment. “E’ryone knows what fuckin’ HAPPENED and that FUCKER is probably laughin’ at me!” she snarled, and then burst into a fit of hoarse, pained coughing. 

The Capricorn’s teeth gritted and he pulled her close, careful not to dislodge anything. His massive arm slid first under her waist so he could hold her close, and he felt her arms drape around his neck as she coughed over his shoulder, clinging in shaking fury. 

“Don’t you worry, Minnow. I’m gonna conduct a real thorough personal review a’ all the servants that had any sorta contact with you,” he muttered softly, and lowered her back down again. “Gonna find the fucker that did this to you.”

Kurloz jerked awake suddenly, not realizing that his reminiscing had put him to sleep. His bloodpusher pounded and he quickly reminded himself that Meenah was alright, that she had had made a full recovery…

“Gamzee?” He pierced through the haze of just waking in a minor panic, sitting up. His ganderbulbs scanned the room quickly and he felt a wave of relief upon seeing the small wriggler had rebuilt his pillow fort, mimicking the roars and trills of interacting lusii while he played with his toys. 

Midway through a roar, Gamzee peeked up, and his horns knocked a pillow off the top of his fort. “Hm?” he hummed. 

“Oh, uh. Nothin’ Gamz, you, go on playin’ with your toys,” Kurloz said. His face felt cold from the rush of his icy purple blood and he held his hand to his painted skin a moment, trying to steady himself. He was no longer sure if he had been reminiscing or having a nightmare. But that was silly, of course. He hadn’t had a nightmare about Meenah’s near assassination since a little while after it happened.

It’s foolish to worry about it, he reminded himself. Meenah had tightened security on the Battleship significantly to ensure no one could drug her food, and she was a completely self-sufficient adult troll that could kick the ass of anyone that got in her way. She didn’t need him to be worried over her. She’d made a full recovery, being a strong tyrian adult. 

He realized then that of course it was ridiculous for him to worry about Meenah, but, perhaps it wasn’t so ridiculous for him to worry about Gamzee. Gamzee was small, and helpless. He didn’t have the entirety of the threshecutioners at his disposal to protect him from potential assassins, nor did he have sweeps upon sweeps of experience and combat training to keep him safe. If something terrible were to happen to him---say perhaps at the hands of a certain slithering High Priest---he might not survive.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh so sorry for the lack of updates lately! summer life got ahead of me and there were a few unexpected surprises, but hopefully i'll have plenty of time to get back into the swing of writing ^u^ thank you all for reading and i really hope you enjoy this chapter!

Days and nights passed, without a word from the High Priest. Kurloz met with Divika each day after breakfast, grilling her for any possible insight into Trecef’s next move---but bafflingly enough, she had no information. The troll had apparently gone about his duties as normal and not made a single mistake, despite the Priestess’s watchful eye and scrutiny bearing down upon him during all hours. He acted civil, if not a little cold towards Kurloz---but other than that, nothing had seemed to change.

Not all things for Kurloz had turned to paranoia and distrust, however. Over the span of the last half month, he’d had his tiny descendent to care for---to teach, to play with, to feed. Messiahs, could Gamzee ever eat. The wriggler had to make up for the first sweeps of neglect, and his body craved nutrients and energy. Kurloz was fairly certain there was never any point when Gamzee wasn’t eating or seeking out food, but he didn’t mind it at all. It was relieving to see the young Capricorn start to fill out. And once he had, he had been taken for a visit to the ship’s top mediculler. He was given a full physical to ensure he hadn’t been infected with any planetside diseases while his lusus had been neglecting him, and Kurloz had always been there to offer a finger to squeeze in case he was a little bit frightened. Soon, Gamzee’s teachings began. The little Capricorn was taught the letters of the Alternian alphabet and how to count properly. Next, Kurloz began to teach him wordplay, a skill that came hand in hand with his introduction to the Holy Scriptures. And then, soon enough, the precious creature who had even started to call him “dad”, as if he was hatched into his care, joined his fellow acolytes for proper schoolfeeding classes. Of course, Kurloz wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about being referred to the same way that a wriggler would refer to their lusus. But, Sister Divika reminded him, that he had taken Goatdad’s place when he’d taken Gamzee was his progeny.

With the Grand Highblood’s scent all over Gamzee, most believed there wasn’t a being in all Empire-reigned territory that would dare lay a malicious claw on him. Even the most conservative and politically minded priests who were often hellbent on tradition dared not to glance at him for long enough that the Highblood might determine it to be threatening. So, despite Kurloz’s concern over Trecef’s threats, he allowed Gamzee to go to his schoolfeeding lessons without him. He wouldn’t let him go alone, of course. In his place, he sent one of sisters who was young enough to perhaps be able to still communicate with Gamzee about things he liked. 

Gamzee, fitted in his new, softest and “most favouritest” pair of robes, sat on the large carpeted steps of one of the Dark Carnival’s many auditoriums. In the center, two young poet-priests were practicing a slam battle while Brother Garret, their teacher, observed, occasionally offering suggestions for rhymes when one or the other seemed stuck. Beside Gamzee, Sister Myrict sat, and may or may not have been playing on her commdevice. Slam battles were a regular commodity for her, and it was tiring to the experienced priestess to watch two acolytes fumble over their rhymes that to her came easily. 

The slam battle and Gamzee’s occasional tugging on her skirt didn’t do a lot to catch Sister Myrict’s attention, but what did was the sudden flickering of jade-coloured strobe lights that filled the auditorium. The warning lights blinked six times before a howling alarm reached their section of the Carnival, and immediately, the teachers and the eldest clowns were mobilizing themselves to get weapons to the acolytes and file out into the hallways, out of the auditorium. 

Sister Myrict snapped to attention, and rose to her feet. The black light tattoos glowed against her flesh and disappeared and reappeared with every flicker of the warning light, and she grabbed the panicked wriggler. 

“What’s going on?” Gamzee said, anxiously, and the elder clown glanced around.

“Danger. Do not run off, stay exactly where I can see you---motherfuck, nevermind.” Determining that there was no feasible way to keep the wriggler from being accidentally trampled underfoot, Myrict snatched Gamzee up in her arms and ran quickly down the stairs and up the other side of the auditorium, against the clowny flow of traffic. She snatched a staff-blade off the wall and took the back exit from the center ring, past massive blood paintings and death masks that covered the walls. The siren died out behind them, and so did the traffic flow, but the air still held an air of danger that made the hair on Gamzee’s neck stand up. The Sister ran to one of the doors, and when it didn’t automatically open with the motion senser, she slammed her fist on it. 

“Fuck. Okay.” 

“What? Where’s my dad?” Gamzee said, and Myrict paused. The doors were shut, and the ship was in lockdown---whatever was happening was probably bad, and the Grand Highblood would have her head if anything happened to his descendent. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, and the look on Gamzee’s face said that that was probably the wrong answer to give. “But! Don’t worry. We’re going to your hiveblock, alright little brother? Everything will be fine.” Myrict quickly ran to the emergency stairs and forced the door open, noting that the low lights had come on inside the usually dark stairwell. She ran up the stairs with Gamzee in one arm, holding the staff-blade in the other hand so tight it was making her knuckles whitish-grey. There was no way the Grand Highblood would be in his hiveblock while the ship was on emergency alert, but at least Gamzee would be safe there. 

The spiralling staircase ended, and Myrict was panting, noting Gamzee’s grubby grip on her robes getting tighter and sweatier and more panicked every second. The wriggler’s heart was pounding with anxious confusion as he noted the weapon his Sister was carrying. It definitely wasn’t one of the ones used for practice sparring, it was the real deal.

In the deep heart of the ship, the two clowns emerged, still unscathed. The massive Capricorn-emblazoned doors of the hiveblock were unguarded, but unscathed, black doors still sealed shut. Myrict went to them and carefully opened them, looking around the room cautiously before allowing Gamzee back onto the ground. 

“Dad?! Daddy?!” he yelled, and she resisted the urge to grab him and clap a frond over his gaping speak-hole. 

“Shhh! Brother Gamzee, shh, this isn’t the time to yell,” she said quickly, and the wriggler gave her a slight pout at being chastised. 

“I’m scared, I just wanna find my dad,” he pleaded. 

“I know, I know, we’ll find hi--” Sister Myrict twitched, and her face became a suitably painted mask of surprise. Gamzee looked up in time to see the Sister’s hand touch against her jaw, where just underneath, a green dart was protruding from the soft grey flesh. 

“Fuck,” she said, and stumbled around, ripping the dart out. She threw it at the floor and held a hand against where it penetrated, staring back at the shadows behind the open door. “Show yourself, heretic! Gamzee, hide.” 

“What’s going ON?!” he demanded in a panic, running to grab her hand. He saw it then---or rather, him. A wiry, skinny troll emerging from the shadows, with a coloured shirt that didn’t match the purple hemotyping of the rest of the ship. He seemed somewhere between teal and cerulean on the spectrum if his clothes were any indication, but Gamzee’s eyes went instead to the row of needle-sharp teeth that glinted behind his smile. 

“So...the Grand Highblood has a descendent. It’s true.” The stranger’s voice sounded reedy and flat to Gamzee’s ears, especially after being surrounded by all the deep-throated chanting and chucklevoodoos for so long. He shifted to hide behind Sister Myrict’s leg, but her hand went limp---first, the staff-blade dropped on the ground, and then the rest of her body.

Gamzee rushed behind her again, as if she could protect him while still unconscious. “What’d you motherfuckin’ do, motherfucker?!” he demanded in a panic. Purple-tinted spit foam was starting to bubble at the corner of Myrict’s lip and her body convulsed once or twice, starting the wriggler to crawl away from it quickly. “What’d you do to her?!” 

“Poor little purple wiggly-grub,” he teased, and waggled his fingers at him as he approached. Gamzee backpedaled in a panic until his back was against the couch and the shadow of the midblood troll was nearly swallowing him. “You should be much more concerned about what I haven’t done yet.” 

“You’re, you’re MEAN, and UNMIRTHFUL,” Gamzee shouted, panicking more. “Why would you do that?! She, sh-she didn’t even hurt you, why’d you motherfuckin’ do that?!” 

The other troll snapped his teeth at him and feigned jumping at him, and Gamzee shrieked in terror, fingers digging into the carpet. “Why? Why not?” 

“Leave me alone!” 

“Who’s going to stop me? Your lusus?” he teased, and grabbed the wriggler by the horn. Gamzee screamed and he grabbed the other’s wrist, but Kurloz had been clipping his claws short to keep him from accidentally scratching himself, and so his grip had little effect.

“I said let go! You’re hurting me, stop it!” Gamzee snarled, though despite his instinctive purpleblood fury welling up, it came out more like a sob. He kicked as hard as he could and grabbed one of the midblood’s horns, hanging off it for a moment before clawing at his eyes desperately. “LET GO LET GO LET GO LET GO!” 

Finally, he managed to strike, and felt the wetness of his fingers brushing the troll’s eye. He let out a snarl and dropped Gamzee, before he slapped the wriggler hard across the face, dragging his sharpened claws over his soft, young skin. Blood was quickly welling up and the little Capricorn squeezed his eyes shut when the stinging purple fluid blinded him, and he felt himself grabbed. Stammering, half angry, half sobbing cries came out of him and he kicked and twisted until the shock of the searing pain in his face became too much for his tiny body to handle, and he fainted.


	11. Chapter 11

Kurloz shoved his way through his own clowns to get to his end of the ship. When the alarms had gone off, all he could think was that Trecef had done SOMETHING motherfucking stupid. And, considering that he couldn’t find the slimy bastard anywhere, he had to assume he was right. But this was no time to be making assumptions about the potential whereabouts of a potential traitor. 

He had gotten too cocky, letting Gamzee out of his sight. Why the fuck did he let the wriggler out of his sight?! Why had he been so stupid?! He could have at least sent him off with someone he knew better than Sister Myrict. Sister Divika had been relatively certain that she could handle the task of grubsitting, and surely she was capable of that---but was she capable of putting the life of a defenseless wriggler’s before her own? The Carnival was known throughout Alternia to have strong bonds of camaraderie, perhaps stronger even than the Cavalreapers; but now that that reputation was being put to the test, Kurloz was terrified to be too confident in it. 

“GAMZEE,” he roared over the crowd. There were midbloods swarming his ship---where the fuck were these midbloods coming from?! They looked like bloody pirates to Kurloz, but he hadn’t seen any pirates since his last stand off with the Gambligants, and most of them were cerulean bloods. These bastards didn’t look nearly so sophisticated as the crowds that Mindfang used to control. They had bandanas and rudimentary strifekind that were easily dominated by the experienced clubs and blades of his clowns---they had no reason to attack the Dark Carnival for no reason. Plenty of trolls coveted the treasure that its walls housed, but Kurloz couldn’t trust that THAT was their motivation. They weren’t going anywhere near the treasures. No, they seemed intent to distract and busy as many of his brothers and sisters as they possibly could. Why? 

Kurloz burst through the next set of doors, where there was much less activity. There were smears of mid-hemospectrum colours smeared all over the place, and distressingly, a few pools of purple as well.  
“Gamzee? Gamzee!” he shouted. Maybe Myrict had been smart enough to bring him back to the hiveblock? Even if he had lost his escort, Gamzee knew that he was supposed to always go back to the hiveblock if something happened, so hopefully he had escaped the chaos.

He ascended the stairs without checking the elevator doors, knowing that they would be locked down during an invasion. It was amazing how fast he could get up the stairs when he really wanted to, despite how he often complained during the rare times that the elevators were nonfunctioning. He ran down the hallway to his hiveblock, noting that the doors were propped open. 

The massive mountain of a troll slowed, ganderbulbs glowing amber-red in the dark shadows. Sweat was beading on his painted forehead and in the cords of his hair, and for a moment, all he could hear was his own heavy panting and the pounding of his pumpbiscuit in his chest cavity. His sharp ears angled forward to focus on sound, and he heard two voices that didn’t belong emerging from his hiveblock. 

“You’ll get your pay,” came Trecef’s voice. “Give me the wriggler.” 

“Hell no, give me the coin first. You can see him, I fucking got him, so hand it over,” replied the unfamiliar of the two voices. Kurloz’s eyes narrowed with blinding fury that was tainted with some terror at the mention of ‘the wriggler’, and he found himself frozen still. 

“Your pay is that the Lord will take this favour you’ve done for the Church instead of the death of your soul.” There was a gasping noise from the unfamiliar troll, and Kurloz shoved the doors to his hiveblock open, watching the High Priest remove his swordkind from the pirate’s chest. 

The Grand Highblood’s eyes immediately fell from Trecef, over to a burlap sack across the room. All he could see was a pair of tiny legs with tiny purple sneakers on the feet sticking out the end, and he was overcome with rage.

“This is your last motherfucking mistake, Trecef,” Kurloz snarled, and the priest glanced at him. 

“Why would I come here if I didn’t know you would find me?” Trecef smirked. “The end of your blasphemous reign is nigh, Grand Highblood. A new era is coming, and that era is me.” 

“I’m not here to listen to your SHIT,” Kurloz snarled, and drew his massive clubs. Trecef’s sword flashed under the liquid veil of greenish-blue blood smeared overtop of it and he approached fast, and the sword drove against Kurloz’s armor, digging in but not penetrating flesh. The Grand Highblood struck the other troll with his massive forearm and sent him wheeling back with a righteous roar, eyes setting into a crimson tone of mirthful fury. 

“Bringing your descendent here was an act of blasphemy, you planned to use him to ensure no one would take your throne from you, heretic!” Trecef snarled, as if the explanation could somehow save him from the behemoth troll that was coming his way.

“Save it for the Messiahs,” Kurloz snarled right back, all of his teeth bared. The sword swung and he grabbed Trecef’s arm, which was puny in comparison to the Highblood’s massive hand.

As Gamzee came to slight consciousness, he heard a shattering sound that could only be a troll’s exoskeleton being destroyed upon the force of impact with something even harder than itself---the floor, or maybe a wall. Trecef’s shrieking quieted and Gamzee twitched in confusion, wheezing and shaking as he heard the massive footsteps that were coming towards him. 

Pupils narrowed to pinpricks against the red of his eyes, Kurloz approached the sack, and grabbed it without much care, desperate to see Gamzee and ensure he was alive. At the surprising grab, Gamzee started to shriek, voice verging into an animalistic trill wrigglers had evolved to call for their lusus. Kurloz tore the bag away and saw his descendent’s face, soaked in purple blood, and he grabbed the child close to himself. A feral growl was rumbling in the Highblood’s chest and he gripped Gamzee hard, shifting to sit on his bottom on the floor, rocking the tiny troll and struggling to register the look of soaking blood all over his face. 

“It’s alright,” came his growling voice. “Kidgoat. Gamzee.” 

The screaming, panicked sobbing continued, and his massive hand furled into the back of Gamzee’s hair; his palm swallowed the entire back of the wriggler’s head. 

“A-are they gone?” the younger Capricorn finally managed. “Are they dead?” 

“Dead,” he growled back with an affirmative nod. “In the Lords’ hands right now, while we’re motherfuckin’ speakin’, kidgoat.” 

Kurloz wanted to destroy something. There was barely anything left of Trecef to destroy, and now that his rage was dissipating, he wished he had kept the slimy heretic alive, so that he could have the pleasure of introducing him to the Chamber of Reflection and all its mirthful tools of torture. 

Somehow, he managed to get up off the floor, with Gamzee still in his arms. He set him down on the counter in the ablutions block, and dribbled water all over his bloody little face, too afraid to hurt him by trying to touch it with a cloth. His descendent’s eyes were bloodshot and bruised, but as Kurloz inspected the deep cuts, he thanked the Messiahs that neither of Gamzee’s eyes had been damaged. 

“It hurts a lot,” he whispered, still trembling hard. “He, he was gonna hurt me, and Sister, she’s, she’s dead, she’s dead dad, she’s dead-” 

“Shh,” he murmured, and picked him up. “Let’s get you to the mediculler, kidgoat.” 

“Dad,” he sobbed. “She’s dead, she, she done stopped movin’ and stuff and it’s cause she was tryna help me I think!”

Kurloz paused at the door, where Sister Myrict’s body was starting to stiffen up. Gamzee didn’t look over, face buried in his ancestor’s neck. 

“She’s gone up to the Eternal Carnival, Gamz. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he muttered softly. “We’ll give ‘er a nice send off when all this shit...is cleaned up,” he added, and stepped over her corpse slowly. He felt a weak nod from Gamzee against his shoulder, and continued down the hall.

“I...I-I don’t, understand,” came the terrible little wheezing from his shoulder again, and Kurloz held the wriggler tighter. 

“You’re young, you ain’t meant to understand,” he murmured back, and slowed to a halt in the middle of the hallway. Gamzee wasn’t ready to be taken away from him so that the medicullers could heal him---and as much as it killed him that the little one was in pain, he knew that he had questions that desperately needed answering. “Thinkpan wasn’t ready for any a’ this fuckin’ shit.”

“Why’d Sister gotta die?” he stammered out, hiccuping more sobs. “She didn’t do anythin’ motherfuckin bad!” 

“Death comes for every single one of us what lives, motherfucker.” He held Gamzee up underneath his armpits, so that he could look him in the eye. “Sister Myrict met her death horns first, alright? She met it doin’ her duty, and now she’s got the loftiest, most mirthful motherfuckin position she could have, sittin’ with the Messiahs at the Carnival. It’s alright for you to be sad, but she’s aight now. You don’t gotta be upset.” 

Gamzee nodded a little at him, and Kurloz drew him back in, starting to walk again. The commotion on the lower decks of the ship had died down, replaced with the thick, permeating stench of blood. There were littered corpses across the ground, and the weird, uncomfortable lusus instinct in Kurloz prompted him to ease Gamzee’s face into his shoulder, so that he wouldn’t look upon it. He moved quickly through the fray, down to the hospital wing. There were a few casualties there, cold and still, and a couple more clowns and mimes laying on the ground being tended to with various kinds of wounds.

When the medicullers and other brothers and sisters saw Kurloz, they sat up quickly, no matter how injured. The concern for their leader was great, and weighed heavily in the air. 

“I’m fine. Get me a motherfuckin mediculler, Gamzee’s bleeding,” he rumbled out into the silence, and there was a cacophony of outrage from the trolls who had grown fond of the wriggler. Two medicullers in purple rushed over and took the wriggler from Kurloz’s arms, and though he had known it would happen, it didn’t make giving him over to them any easier. Luckily, the two were familiar to Gamzee. One had done his check ups, and the other had helped to patch up plenty of his bruised and scraped knees. 

Within half an hour, Gamzee had been easily subdued. The first thing the medicullers had done, once getting him into a private room with Kurloz looming protectively over head, was give him a small paper cup of juice to drink. It was filled with concentrated painkillers and a sedative, so before the Highblood knew it, his panicking descendent was peacefully asleep on the examination bed. It was a relief to see him relaxed--and soon, the medicullers were wiping away the blood and tears that had made the wounds seem much more grievous than they really were. Kurloz had no doubt that they would scar, but once the bleeding was under control, he felt he could relax more. Gamzee was cleaned up to the best of their abilities, given ointment for his wounds and then some thin bandages to keep them from opening up again, before being handed back to the Grand Highblood. 

He glanced down, and the commdevice strapped to his forearm, still splattered with blood, lit with an urgent message to come down to the hangar bay. Holding Gamzee’s unconscious form tight to his chest, he moved through the ship at a pace that was dangerous for anyone unlucky enough to be trampled by him. 

By the time that Kurloz arrived at the bay, a swarm of subjuggulators had been concentrated around a ship that had come in under false codes, and a fresh coat of black and purple paint. 

“PRESERVE ME A MOTHERFUCKIN’ LIVE ONE,” came Kurloz’s roaring order, and armed subjuggulators boarded the ship. “ I HAVE GOT RIGHTEOUS QUESTIONS FOR THESE MOTHERFUCKING SHITBLOOD PRETENDERS.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://t3nts4ndm1rth.tumblr.com/post/124756992468/being-the-youngest-acolyte-in-the-mirthful-church
> 
> i got a drawing tablet and tried my hand at a smol gamzee ^ a happy drawing for you for the end of a less happy chapter! O:


	12. Chapter 12

It wasn’t easy to hand the pleasure and privilege of interrogating a prisoner over to Sister Divika, but Kurloz was unwilling to leave Gamzee alone after the incident. Once one of the pirates was removed from the faulty subjuggulator ship, it was discovered that he had been the second-in-command and quadrantmate to the slimy midblood who scarred Gamzee’s face. 

During the period in which he was given an express ticket to the Chamber of Reflection, Kurloz had sent an order for his hiveblock to be cleaned as quickly as possible. A part of him thought that it would be good for Gamzee to witness his first righteous interrogation, but another part said that that would perhaps be too much excitement for the wriggler after everything he had already gone through. Surely, the Muse would give them another opportunity to share in mirth and bloodshed and the extraction of information. 

“Motherfuck, you were so fuckin’ brave, weren’t you?” Kurloz muttered softly, rubbing the unharmed part of Gamzee’s soft jaw with one knuckle. “Bet you scared the shit outta them motherfuckin’ heretics, Gamz.” 

“Nuh uh, they weren’t scared a’ me,” Gamzee replied, and held the Grand Highblood’s hand with both of his own. His fingers were cold, and felt smaller and more fragile than they usually did. “They wouldn’t’a put me in a bag if they was scared of me.” 

“Well of course they would have. They had to cover up how motherfuckin’ scary you looked so they wouldn’t shit themselves.”

A small laugh bubbled up out of Gamzee then, and Kurloz felt an immense wave of relief. The day that the Grand Highblood couldn’t arouse mirth in another was the day he would probably settle to let the Messiahs take him. But even more importantly, it was relieving to see the look of haunted terror come out of Gamzee’s eyes for a moment. 

“Scared the literal shit out of those shitbloods, Gamzee. I’m so proud of you,” he added, in a softer murmur. He rubbed the wriggler between the horns gently, and he nuzzled back, still sluggish and sleepy in his movements from the sedatives. Kurloz also didn’t like drugging up his poor descendent, especially not since the creature had had such a problem with eating sopor slime before his arrival to the Dark Carnival, but it was a better alternative than letting him be seized with his own terror. 

Gamzee shifted in Kurloz’s arms, looking around the private mediculler’s room. It wasn’t especially comfortable for the wriggler, and he spent a moment hoping that their hiveblock would be okay to go back to soon.

“What’s a shitblood?” he asked, after a moment. 

“Mm, well you got your know on of the hemospectrum,” Kurloz replied, and stroked his thick, feathery black curls. “Shitbloods is the lower-down trolls that don’t understand their place under the Empire. It’s selfish heresy, is what it is.” 

“Oh,” Gamzee replied. He shifted again in the Highblood’s arms, struggling to get comfortable. “Why’d the shitbloods try to hurt all of us? I, I heard one of them, the one that hurt me talking, and said it’s cause I’m here.” He hesitated. “Sister Myrict done got dead ‘cause of me, didn’t she?” 

“Oh...fuck, Gamzee, no, don’t say that shit,” Kurloz murmured back, and shooshed him gently. “Ain’t your fault. You just got caught up in some unrighteous politerrorism that didn’t have nothin’ to do with you. They done used you as their motherfuckin’ scapegoat, to try to be excusin’ their own heresy.”

“...Brother Trecef was there too, though. He ain’t no shitblood, he’s, all up and bein’ motherfuckin’ purple, like we is.” 

“Trecef ain’t no brother a’ yours anymore,” the Highblood said, firmly. “He betrayed his mirthful family, and now he’s facin’ the Lord’s motherfuckin wrath. Him, n’ the Muse n’ the Angel, they’re all gonna have a real nice TALK together, about what he pulled.” 

Gamzee nodded and looked around a little blankly, sliding down lower into his guardian’s arms. Meanwhile, an acolyte knocked on the door. 

“Your Mirthfulness?” 

“Come in,” he said, and the acolyte did. She bowed, and Kurloz waved her up. 

“Your hiveblock has been cleaned. What would you have us do with Trecef’s body?” the acolyte asked. 

“Take everything off, but leave the bones, and the horns. And the pirate, that did this to my little one’s fuckin’ face,” Kurloz said. “N’ then leave the bones for me. I’ll be makin’ some additions to the Center Ring.” 

“Yes, sir.” She bowed and left again, and Kurloz rose to his feet, carrying Gamzee closely. He thanked the Messiahs again that his descendent was medicated enough not to notice the carnage around him---the attack had been suddenly enough that there was plenty of fallen family soaking in purple blood around him, and he didn’t want to entertain the thought that Gamzee may see it as a failure. He would be sure to show him the bodies of their fallen attackers instead, hopefully to build up his confidence. And, perhaps make him feel better about all that had happened. He would be sure to make hair beads out of Trecef’s and the midblood’s horns for Gamzee, to wear when he was older, and his hair wasn’t so soft. 

When they arrived back in the hiveblock, Kurloz caught sight of his own visage in the mirror and grimaced slightly. His eyes were still burning a shade of angry ember orange under his thick brows, facepaint smeared to absolute shit, with blood clearly drying in his hair cords. 

“I need some ablutions, Gamz,” he muttered softly. “I’m gonna put you in your coon and you get your rest on, so you can heal and shit.” 

“No, I don’t wanna be alone,” he whined back immediately, in a panic. Kurloz’s natural instinctive hatred for whining made him nearly snap at the little creature to shut up, but he softened immediately without saying a word. Was the hair-trigger state of his rage really so sensitive that he actually thought to snap at Gamzee? Messiahs. He needed a goddamn nap, he thought. “They could come back!” 

The Highblood sighed softly, and felt a pang of guilt. “Aight, yeah, you’re right,” he said. “Ain’t no one gonna lay an unrighteous frond on you ever again, but I know   
you’re scared n’ shit. That’s okay.” He carried Gamzee to the ablutions block, glad that the showering port was at least made of clear glass so Gamzee could tell he was still there. He placed the wriggler gently on the floor and wrapped him in a few soft towels, then turned the shower on, stripping off his bloodied armor and grimacing upon noticing a couple of wounds. He had taken a mace to the shoulder, and though his armor had protected him from most of the blow, there was a chunk of bare skin missing that was purple and gorey. He climbed into the shower, wincing slightly at the sting of the water. 

“Dad,” Gamzee said, quietly. “I’m sorry you almost got killed and stuff.” 

The massive Capricorn then paused a moment, before barking out a laugh. “Have a little righteous faith in me, Gamzee. There wasn’t no ‘almost’ anywhere for me, tonight,” he replied. “Your little peepstalks were shut pretty tight, but I got my fuckin’ righteous promise on I wasn’t nowhere near dying.” 

“You sure? Cause, cause, that would be really bad,” the wriggler replied, blunt claws tearing into the towel anxiously. 

“Fuck, yes. That motherfucker Trecef was nothin’ but a heretic and a fool, and there ain’t no way the Messiahs would send me out at the fronds of a shitstain like him,” Kurloz said. He started to squeeze water through his hair and scrubbed around the bases of his horns, wiping his facepaint away with a bit of soap. 

Truth be told, it was endearing that Gamzee was concerned about him, despite the fact that it was entirely unnecessary. However, that didn’t stop the Highblood from feeling ruffled. He was an indestructible force of the Messiahs, but Gamzee...Gamzee was not. He would be, one day, but at this age, he was fragile and weak, and could be easily snuffed out. The sight of his descendent’s tiny legs and purple shoes sticking out of the bottom of the bag flickers in the back of Kurloz’s pan again, and he turns off the shower in a much more aggressive movement than necessary. His shoulder muscles twitched with a shudder. The warmth of the shower had done little to calm him, considering seeing Gamzee on the brink of possibly being murdered made his blood feel like ice.

He stepped from the shower, and wrapped himself in a robe before hoisting Gamzee from the floor. His commdevice was lit with messages again, and he elected to ignore them again, at least for the moment. His rage was burning too hot to respond to any of them. He was quite certain if he did, he would go on yet another berserker rage. 

Soon, the elder of the two Capricorns was easing Gamzee into his lap on the couch. The wriggler was wrapped in at least six different blankets, since he couldn’t pick one he wanted out of all the selection, and had many of his stuffed toys under his arms. His face was carefully bandaged and he laid in his nest of soft things upon Kurloz’s lap, eyes glazed slightly over while watching a wriggler’s telecom show. The Grand Highblood had never been one for television at all, but had had a screen brought in to keep his descendent occupied. The bright colours and songs and ridiculous giggly characters brought him mirth, and Kurloz couldn’t argue against the value of that. He stroked Gamzee’s curls gently, working to ease him to sleep, before finally hearing his soft, honking snores. 

DIVIKA:   
The captured green blood has confirmed alliances to Trecef. 

DIVIKA:   
The green blood’s name is Wetblade. I believe this is not his hatchname. However, it is an honest confession. His possessions are also marked with this moniker. 

DIVIKA:   
Wetblade has confirmed the platoon of pirates he invaded with are dubbed the Baseborn Corsairs.

DIVIKA:   
The Baseborn Corsairs are not connected to the Gambligants. I am currently reporting to the Executive Threshecutioner on the matter.

DIVIKA:   
The Baseborn Corsairs have no prior history with the Empire. There are currently no records available. 

DIVIKA:   
Wetblade has confirmed Trecef’s payment of sixteen thousand Caegars to the Baseborn Corsairs for the kidnapping of your descendent, Your Mirthfulness. 

Kurloz watched the screen, and felt his rage boiling again. Any onlooker would easily notice the scleras of his eyes burning reddish-orange again,but somehow, he managed to keep the hand that was still in Gamzee’s hair relatively gentle and still. A new message appeared on the screen. 

DIVIKA:   
Wetblade has confessed that his captain’s mission was to hold Brother Gamzee hostage, to ensure Trecef could defeat you for your title.

DIVIKA:   
I do not believe this worm has anymore information to give us. What are your orders?

The Grand Highblood took a breath. If he were alone and not at risk of waking the younger Capricorn, he would probably take his rage out on the nearest and heaviest piece of furniture. Instead, he merely shook with rage, massive fingers starting to struggle to type back to the High Priestess properly. 

THE GRAND HIGHBLOOD:  
I AM SORE MOTHERFUCKING VENGEFUL, SISTER, AND MY WRATH IS BURNING RIGHTEOUS. LEAVE THE HERETIC IN THE CELLS OF PENITENCE. I WILL HANDLE HIS BLASPHEMOUS HIDE ON THE MORROW.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone for waiting for this chapter! at the end of the summer there were a couple crazy things going on in my life and i didn't have much of a chance to write. i hope you enjoy this chapter (even if its a bit short) o: thank you all again for being so patient and sticking by me!

When the morrow came, Kurloz was surprised to find he had been able to sleep at all. Eventually he had moved himself and the wriggler to a dark cozy pile in the center of the hive block, curled around his tiny, weakened descendent protectively. Most of the night had been spent humming and murmuring low mirthful songs to the tiny creature and stroking his hair and horns to ensure that he would remain asleep. There were only a few times that the Highblood had drifted off, but each time, he woke with an aggressive grunt, eyes widening and scanning the darkness around them for danger. 

However, the time to wake finally came. The low lights in the ship's hallways brightened, acolytes roused from their beds to light the many candles, and breakfast was soon being served in the galley. 

"Gamzee," Kurloz murmured softly, hating to wake the kid. He gently touched the unscratched part of his jaw with his knuckle. "Time to wake up, kid goat. Time for mass." 

"I...hhhhnnn..." Gamzee groaned softly and curled into himself more, shaking his head. "I don't wanna go," he mumbled. 

That was deeply concerning. Usually the little Capricorn was excited for the new day. In fact, it was usually Gamzee waking Kurloz, making excited exclamations about what he dreamt about before running around to get ready for school feeding as fast as he could. Him not wanting to go to mass was new, and it affirmed to the Highblood that something was extremely wrong.

"Now come on, whose gonna light the altar candles if you ain't there?" Kurloz prodded, poking his little belly gently. 

"I dunno," he mumbled back, grumpily. "My face hurts. I don't...I don't wanna go anywhere. The ship is motherfuckin scary n there could still be bad shitbloods comin' to get me." 

"Ain't no more shitbloods coming to get you Gamz, they can't get onto the ship," Kurloz insisted, scooping him into his arms. The wriggler fidgeted a little, but let himself be lifted up and carried and placed on the stool at the nutrition block counter anyways. 

"They did last time though," he said, and looked up with round amber eyes. Kurloz hesitated, and felt his fingers curl against his palm. Gamzee didn't trust the safety of the Dark Carnival anymore? Did those shitblood pirates and Trecef really manage to ruin that? 

Oh, the motherfucker in the cells of penitence would pay dearly. 

"I'll be around if anyone tries to hurt you. I ain't gonna let you outta my righteous gaze, aight? But that's why you gotta come to mass." He moved about the nutrition block, putting together a little breakfast for Gamzee. Wriggler food was either oddly bland or sweet and Kurloz didn't understand why his descendent liked it so much, but cluckbeast nuggets cut into mirthful shapes seemed to do the job every time, no matter what meal it was. "Everyone else is scared to, and I gotta tell em all why it's okay now." 

"...Okay," Gamzee relented, but was still pouting. "I'll go." 

"That's a good boy," he rumbled back, relieved. He ruffled the other's hair gently. "Now, eat up. You can't be gettin big if you ain't feeding your body."

Gamzee ate. Slowly, however. Opening his mouth too far or using too many face muscles at all pulled on his deep scratches and was clearly painful, and soon enough Kurloz resolved that it was time to give the wriggler more painkiller. He found some juice and squirted in a dropper of fluid into the cup, then have it to Gamzee. 

"This is the un-hurty drink, right?" 

"That's right. That'll help your pain a bit kid," he murmured. He turned on the television on again with another one of the shows that Gamzee liked, then made his way to the ablutions block to paint up and get himself ready for mass. Once he was fearsomely painted and dressed in his armour, he went to get Gamzee. But before they left, he dabbed the cuts with some water and healing ointment. 

"Now we're gonna get some band aids on, yeah?" Kurloz said, and Gamzee nodded. 

"Yeah," he said, and Kurloz placed long strips of cloth down each scratch, all the way to the tapered ends. Then, he dabbed a base of white paint all over his skin, and painted the hollows of his eyes and the smile around his mouth a darker shade of grey than his skin. "There. Is that aight?" 

"Yeah," he mumbled softly. Massive amber eyes glanced up anxiously, waterlines bright purple and swollen. The elder of the two stared at him, and let out a soft sigh. 

“C’mon now Gamz, quit givin’ me them big sad eyes,” he murmured teasingly. “You’re gonna be okay, motherfucker. Got my promise onto that.” 

Gamzee looked away and let out a huff, dropping his shoulders. “Okay,” he agreed, and Kurloz picked him up. The next battle was to get Gamzee dressed. Typically, he would have the little troll where his formal vestments for mass, but the Highblood figured he could cut the kid some slack after everything he had been through. He found a pair of soft, plain black robes, and Gamzee slipped them over his head. Kurloz loosely tied a purple sash around the little one’s waist and then picked him up again, carrying him to the Center Ring.

The hallways of the Dark Carnival were much less rowdy than usual. The acolytes stuck on janitorial duty were still busy trying to scrub the bloodstains out of the carpets and off the walls, and the air was quietly filled with murmurs instead of the usual cacophony of chanting and laughing. Gamzee noticed too and remained equally as quiet as a result, fingers clenched nervously into one of the many nearby cords of the Highblood’s hair from his safe perch on his shoulder. 

“...Dad?” came Gamzee’s voice, softly. “They’re all gone, right? The heretics n’ the shitbloods? They gone?” 

“Yeah, Gamz. They’re gone.” He reached up and squeezed his tiny kneecap gently, reassuringly. The inside of the Center Ring was smoky with incense and trolls in robes were singing mourning songs in low tones that filled the entire room, the lights low and dim. Kurloz went to the podium and placed Gamzee on his throne carefully, going to the altar. He murmured a quiet prayer under his breath and lit the black and purple candles as he did. 

Gamzee didn't like the mourning. It was clear on his wounded little face, and the way that he turned his head away from the rows of bodies on the edges of the Church. Kurloz took a breath, steadying himself, and continued towards the front. Death never disturbed him; he had seen plenty of it with his own eyes and caused even more by his own hands for that. But to see his brothers and sisters, his followers, murdered like low bloods in these quantities---it made his gut unsettle. The wriggler on his shoulder was starting to become unmanageably squirmy and he resisted the instinctive urge to harshly scold---instead, he moved him down and placed him on his throne. 

“I don’t like it,” Gamzee said immediately, making a face and shaking his head. He covered his eyes. “There’s dead trolls, dad, I don’t, wanna look.” 

“Death is part of bein’ alive, Gamz,” Kurloz breathed lowly, gently, and looked around as the masses of purplebloods started to take their seats for mass. “Just...close your eyes, alright? Close your eyes, kidgoat.” 

The lights around the Center Ring were much too bright to make much of a difference, but Gamzee settled down against Kurloz’s throne, eyes closed. He was still tiny enough that he could curl up in the seat space between the arms, and he curled in on himself. He pulled up the massive hood over his horns and then down over his eyes, and the fabric blocked out more light. The pain killers he drank that morning had soothed his scratches and he settled into a soft pattern of snoring, and by the time that Kurloz glanced back at him again, he was asleep. The Highblood was thankful, at least, for that.


	14. Chapter 14

“Thine faithful bloodpushers will be rewarded for thy mirthful vigilance,” said Kurloz, holding a hand up to the crowd of observing purplebloods. The air was sick and still, smelling like blood and facepaint boiling under the stage lights that surrounded the Center Ring dias. He could feel it---there was a feeling of failure hanging in the atmosphere, and his words could not ease their pain. Not yet, at least. It would take time. “The faithless motherfuckers that attacked our brothers and sisters are in the hands a’ the Lord now, let me hear a motherfuckin’ amen!” 

“Amen!” 

“Their souls is motherfuckin double dead, praise our Messiahs, praise our Lord.” Kurloz raised a hand and a low chant rose within the crowd, and he knelt by the altar in prayer.

When it was over, about an hour later, the Grand Highblood felt weak. His lack of sleep through the day was certainly taking its toll on his body, and so for the first time in sweeps, mass was cut short. Silently, everyone was relieved. Some of the elder trolls, the orthodox, the prudish, those who called any younger troll with a different thought a heretic---even sighed their own breaths of relief when he ended mass. It was not easy to feel the lingering air of death against their painted faces. It was even harder to repaint the faces of the dead. No one wanted to admit that they had lost so many to lowblood corsairs, but they had had a highblood coordinating their heretical efforts. Still, their ego ached. Their pride was wounded. 

After he had managed to make his way back through the throngs of worshippers in the Center Ring, Kurloz retired to his hiveblock, with a limp, sleeping Gamzee slung over one arm. He hated to drug the poor wriggler with chemicals and medicines. He hated the thought of that Messiah-given mind being dulled. But, he hated the idea of Gamzee being in pain even more. 

The massive troll moved throughout his hiveblock, unlatching his armour and collapsing down onto the mountainous pile of pillows and blankets. In the darkness, it was easy to submit to his exhaustion. One calloused hand dragged Gamzee’s favourite goat plush toy up to his chin, so if he awoke before the Highblood did, he wouldn’t be too afraid. Then, he buried the two of them in blankets, and closed his heavy eyes.

When the Grand Highblood finally began to dream, he didn’t realize it. It felt like living a memory. The stench of sweet hate sex was still warm in the air, and the massive troll had had Rufioh under one of his arms. The lanky motherfucker had been so goddamn beautiful. Bronzed skin, the kind of gorgeous, admirable muscle that only came from training in combat, and those strange, beautiful wings sprouting from his back. They had been fighting about something before. It was nothing, really. Rufioh had been acting like hot shit again, and then Kurloz was upon him, forcing him against the wall with his great bulk like a bug under a swatter. He was so beautiful when he would sweat and squirm, lithe fingers buried in the heavy cords of Kurloz’s coarse hair. By the time they were finished with each other, they had wound up on the coupling platform again, legs entwined, sweat-laced bodies pressed together. 

In his dream, Kurloz remembered admiring Rufioh’s sleeping form. He remembered running his claws over that scarred, soft-skinned chest, and feeling the warmth and quick pulse that only came with a very low-spectrum troll. It was pathetic, how fragile he really was; despite his cockiness and constant mockery of his enemies. A warm spread of pity, a familiar, distressing, scintillating feeling, moved through Kurloz as he watched the sleeping Taurus. 

But no. He couldn’t think like that. Rufioh was a shitblood, a heretic, a mutant; his kismesis. He couldn’t vacillate this way for such a pathetic troll. 

And yet, he had been. The Capricorn pulled himself away from the other’s sleeping form, getting up to find something to distract him. He crossed the room and went to Rufioh’s bookshelf. He was surprisingly well-read for a scrappy lowblood Cavalreaper, even if all his books looked like comics and poetic garbage. But then, something caught Kurloz’s eye. 

An unmarked brown tome. Unremarkable. Extremely unremarkable. Suspiciously unremarkable. 

Kurloz slid the book from its place on the shelf, and found that the cover was equally clean of text or symbol. His massive hand ran over it, and soon he was opening it, glancing over dog-eared, yellowed pages. The book was ancient, and as he flipped through, his blood pusher began to grow cold in his chest. The psalms were familiar, the quotes tangibly infuriating. They were the words of the Sufferer, the heretic who had nearly uprooted everything the Empire stood for. 

He crossed the room with a betrayed snarl and shoved Rufioh awake, and he jumped, big syrupy eyes blinking up at him in innocent confusion. “What?” 

“What is this?” Kurloz demanded, and shoved the book in his face. “I could have you culled for treason, Nitram, this is an illegal text!” 

Rufioh’s wings fluttered as he pushed himself up, a startled brown flush crawling up his face. He looked like he wanted to snatch the book away from Kurloz, but he remained still. 

“Relax,” he finally said. “C’mon, amigo. You think I really follow that crazy dead guy?” 

Kurloz stared at him. “Why do you have this?” he demanded. “Confess the truth, motherfucker.” 

“Don’t get so fuckin’ serious on me, ‘Loz.” Rufioh ran a hand through his black and red hair, and the way the light shone on his chest made Kurloz’s gut clench. Even in the face of betrayal, somehow, he was still so perfect. “I just wanted to know like, what the philosophy behind it was. I can’t be an effective hunter for the Empire if I don’t even know what I’m fighting.”

“...So. You don’t got your motherfuckin belief on in the Sufferer?” he clarified, slowly, but felt himself already calming. 

“Hell nah,” Rufioh said. He rose to his feet and fluttered his wings to hover, so he could be at eye-level with Kurloz. “Don’t you got any fuckin’ faith in me?” 

Kurloz jumped awake, his blood running cold at the unpleasant memory, brought to the head of his mind’s eye so starkly. His nutrition sac was already turned and he glanced at Gamzee, slumbering against him, snoring lowly now. Perhaps it was for the better that he was medicated into sleep, since surely it would be distressing to his ancestor in such a state of cold sweat. 

“Motherfuckin’ pull it together, motherfucker,” Kurloz mumbled, and laid down his head again. A large hand slid between Gamzee’s shoulder blades and massaged there gently to keep him soothed to sleep, but the Highblood avoided keeping his eyes closed for too long. The image of Rufioh clashing in his mind’s eye with the image of the dead and Gamzee’s scratched open face was enough to fuel his nightmares for at least a sweep.


End file.
